


A Handful of Dates

by KanarandTarkaleanTea



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Allusions to OFC, Arabic Themes (with apologies for inaccuracies), Character Study, Eventual Smut, Friends to Lovers, M/M, POV Alternating, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 79,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KanarandTarkaleanTea/pseuds/KanarandTarkaleanTea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garak and Dr. Bashir discuss literature, smoke some hookah, and reflect on their lives and their feelings for each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shisha and Uneven Hems

**Author's Note:**

> Set roughly during the 4th season.
> 
> While Star Trek would occasionally try to touch on the different ethnicities of their characters, it so often felt like the Federation was sort of his homogonized "human" grouping. Just like other planets were often homogonized to simply be "Bajoran" or "Cardassian" without exploring the idea that a whole planet would most likely have a myriad of different ethnic/linguistic groups, etc. 
> 
> It is never stated that Bashir comes from the Middle East, but I thought it might be interesting to see what might come up between he and Garak if they were to discuss an Earth history that wasn't quite so "generic."
> 
> No offense is meant by any inaccuracies in this story! Just written for some fun and a bit of character study.

As a doctor, Julian Bashir knew better than to indulge in unhealthy habits– but sometimes the urge to do something decadent was overpowering. And even though he was by nature a gregarious person, he had to admit that the prospect of spending the evening at home smoking a little shisha alone had a decided appeal. So, instead of a few synthahols and a friendly game of darts with Chief O’Brien down at Quark’s, he headed back to his quarters for the evening.  


He looked at the collection of flavored tobaccos he had, (hoping they were still good), and decided on a combination of mint and orange. From the replicator he ordered orange slices, mint leaves, and very cold water, combining them in the vase of the ḡalyān.  


He remembered the day his aunt Fatima had sent him the hookah- It had been in a care package sent to him a few years after he and his parents had left earth. There had been the ḡalyān, a hand-sewn tunic with gold threads (that had been way too big for him at the time, but fit well now), a well-thumbed collection of real-paper books, and a package of Mozafati dates. The arrival of the package on Adigeon Prime had made him feel more homesick for a while, but he quickly came to treasure the small collection of items –they had become a sort of memorial to the boy who had been “Jules,” and had helped him remember the strong connection he had had with his aunt before he had become “Julian.”  


Even though she was very traditional, and certainly didn’t have the latest gadgets that his father reveled in, he had always enjoyed the afternoons he had been able to spend with Aunt Fatima. She would read to him, or they would tend to her garden- simple, uncomplicated activities.  


His father hadn’t liked him spending time with his aunt. He considered his sister-in-law backwards in her ways. But to Julian, it didn’t matter that she didn’t have a replicator, or that she washed her clothes by hand. All he knew was that the time he spent with her had been a source of happiness in his often confusing young life.  


She had been so patient with him- even when he couldn’t get simple concepts though his head. Where his father showed either anger or embarrassment, and his mother despaired, his aunt had simply smiled and would attempt to show him things in a different way.  


He remembered eavesdropping on the fight that had taken place between his father and his aunt before they left earth…  


“Perhaps Allah has a different path for him. We should give him time to realize what it is,” he had heard Fatima say through the closed door. “Give him more time. If you do this thing, you will be changing him forever. There won’t be any going back.”  


His father had been emphatic, though. They were to leave just before his 7th birthday for reasons he didn’t understand until much later.  
Bashir fastened the hand-knotted buttons of the tunic she had made him. Sitting on the floor, he took a deep drag from the hookah, listening to the familiar gurgling sound.  


_DaDing._   


Bashir opened his eyes, annoyed. No one ever came to his quarters unless he invited them. Why did someone have to decide to just drop by now? He waited for a moment, debating what to do. _I’ll just pretend I’m not here,_ he thought, settling back a little bit and hoping, illogically, that the computer wouldn’t betray his location.  


_DADING._   


Gah! Bashir stood up, listening.  


A playful voice sneaked through his door. “I know you’re in there, doctor.”  


Garak. He should have known.  


_No doubt he’ll use a Cardassian door override, too, if I don’t let him in._ he thought.  


Bashir pressed the panel and the door slid open, Garak standing primly on the other side.  


“I hope I’m not disturbing you, doctor,” The Cardassian said sweetly, his eyes running over Bashir’s form, appraising his outfit. “My, and here I thought you lived in your Starfleet uniform. This is a vast improvement.”  


“Come in, Garak,” Bashir said, feigning frustration. In truth, though, he had to admit that he wasn’t entirely displeased at seeing his friend. It was always something of a special occasion when they saw each other outside of their customary weekly lunches in the replimat, and seeing Garak at his door made his heart feel very light indeed.  


“Thank you,” Garak said. Once inside, though, his eyes shifted nervously. “My dear doctor, I hate to arouse panic, but I do believe your quarters are on fire.”  


Bashir laughed. “Nothing to be alarmed over. I’ve just been enjoying an old Terran vice.” He walked over to the ḡalyān and inhaled deeply, enjoying his friend’s look of mild confusion- no doubt feigned. He blew different sized smoke rings, (something that his aunt had taught him to do, much to his mother’s horror), and offered the mouthpiece to Garak. “I only have the one hose, but you’re welcome to try it if you like.”  


Garak looked at him incredulously. “A vice, doctor? I thought Starfleet eliminated all forms of vice.”  


Bashir smiled. “Nearly. But I am only human.” He sat back down on the floor, gesturing for Garak to do the same. The Cardassian paused a moment, then folded himself into a seated position. Bashir was amazed by the unexpected grace with which his friend seated himself – the movement was almost serpentine - like a snake coiling itself.  


“So what is it?” Garak asked.  


“It’s shisa - Earth tobacco. It really is terrible for you. It’s a carcinogen, negatively affects the heart and lungs, and tends to be highly addictive.”  


“My, that sounds delightful.” Garak took the hose. “So, just inhale?”  


“Deeply.”  


The Cardassian coughed after the first lung-full, but attempted a second try. Bashir found his glance drawn to his friend’s mouth as he exhaled the smoke, lips puckered, blowing the smoke out in a narrow stream. After a moment, Garak opened his eyes. “I must say doctor that is rather enjoyable.”  


Bashir smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”  


Garak made a little noise of assent as he handed the hose back. “And what inspired this thoroughly unhealthy and decadent activity?”  


“I just felt the need to relax a little”  


“And the outfit?”  


“A bit of nostalgia. It’s a traditional outfit from the region my family originally hails from on Earth. It was a gift from my aunt.”  


“Well, she obviously had an excellent eye for fabric.” Bashir felt a brief thrill when Garak reached out towards him to rub the glowing white cloth between his fingers. “The weaving is beautiful. The hems are slightly uneven, though.”  


“My aunt never had a very steady hand with a needle and thread.”  


The Cardassian looked at him incredulously. “She sewed it by hand?”  


“Yes. She did everything by hand – she was a part of the Beledi community.”  


“And what is a “Beledi”?’”  


“It means “of my homeland.” It was a sect on Earth. They don’t use modern technology.”  


Garak rolled his eyes. “How inefficient.”  


“Very. But, they don’t mind it - and it wasn’t all bad. I remember my aunt would get up well before the sun had risen and start cooking the meals for the day. All day long the smells from her kitchen would be amazing, and it made us anticipate the food more. And no one ever seemed quite as busy. I mean, they worked very hard, but no one rushed around.”  


“So where did you ever learn the habit of inhaling your food?”  


Bashir grimaced. “That would be from my parents.”  


Garak looked at the doctor curiously. “You’ve never talked about your family before.”  


Coming back to himself, Bashir’s stomach clenched and he deflected. “Neither have you.”  


The Cardassian smiled – that particular smile that Bashir knew shielded a thousand secrets. “True.”  


Changing the subject, the doctor went back to his aunt. “One of the things I loved most was when my aunt’s dates ripened.”  


Garak quirked an eye ridge. “I’m sorry, doctor, I don’t think the interpreter translated correctly… when your aunt’s “evenings out” ripened?”  


Bashir laughed- universal translators were good, but not perfect. “Not quite! No, dates were a fruit on Earth. They were small, about six centimeters long, most often with brown wrinkled skin. They’re usually very sweet, especially after they have ripened. There are many different types, but her tree produced these amazing Mozafati dates. They were delicious”  


“They sound similar to Cardassian seth’tels,” Garak said, “Which are an indulgence that I enjoyed very much as well in my youth.”  


Bashir smiled. “My aunt and I would spend a lot of time cultivating her tree. Even back then I tended to have more of a black thumb, but she tried her best to teach me how to care for the palm. Thankfully nothing I ever did damaged it. As a child I was so impatient…” Garak snorted an incredulous laugh.“…even more than I am now…” Bashir amended “and it felt like it took forever for the dates to ripen. I would climb up onto the roof when she wasn’t looking and steal unripened dates. I can still remember the taste- bitter and crunchy. She would laugh when she saw my face- she was never angry when she caught me, but would tell me “the sweetest things are the ones you have to wait for.”  


Garak’s gaze lingered on him, and the doctor felt himself blush. “I must say that I agree with your aunt wholeheartedly.”  


* * *  


It was late when Garak returned to his quarters- the station was quiet except for slurred sounds coming from Quark’s. He and Bashir had spent the evening engaged in their usual banter, enjoying the hookah, and just generally enjoying each other’s company.  


Even after so many years, it always surprised Garak just how much he _did_ enjoy being with the doctor. While he would never have anticipated that their association would have continued after their first few encounters, their intellects and senses of humor were complimentary. There was just something about the human that the Cardassian found enticing. Something that transcended mere physical attraction, (which was what he had assumed his interest to be confined to the beginning). Something deeper in their connection that kept him enthralled to the young man.  


When he had initially approach the doctor, he hadn’t anticipated finding any depth in the conceited young Starfleet officer. He had viewed the whole interaction as just a momentary distraction from his excruciating exile, and perhaps a way of gaining a little more information on the new Federation interlopers. Certainly he could see that the young doctor had many of the traits the Cardassian had come to expect from Starfleet personnel. There was the overly outgoing attitude, the exaggerated friendliness, the arrogance ungracefully disguised as humility. The doctor struck Garak as a boy trying desperately to be a man. His startling beauty only added to Garak’s assumption that he was simply a prettily wrapped package that ultimately held nothing. But at the time, the Cardassian had not been opposed to the idea of unwrapping the package just for the pleasure of it. It had been a while since something so lovely had crossed his path.  


Yet Garak was a trained observer of humanoid behavior, and he shortly became convinced that there was more to the doctor than his overly-enthusiastic exterior let on. Like a Cardassian enigma tale, Garak was convinced that everyone was guilty of something- it was just a matter of figuring out what each person’s particular crime was; what specific part of their personality they kept hidden from even their closest confederates. Even years later, Garak was not sure what Bashir was hiding, but he was thoroughly enjoying the investigation.  


In his quarters, Garak sat with a cup of red leaf tea and wondered: When exactly had he started not absolutely hating every moment on the station? He supposed that it had been about six months after he had met the doctor. Once they had fallen into their easy rhythm of weekly lunches and playful repartee. He had grown to look forward to their conversations- even though the doctor was thoroughly naïve and his taste in writing tended regrettably towards the sentimental. These traits in another would have been cloying to him… yet in the doctor they were strangely…endearing.  


_Endearing, Elim? Really? You have been around humans too long._ He thought wryly.  


But there had been a change when Bashir had stayed with him during his withdrawals from the cranial implant. The sting of the Cardassian’s words had not forced the doctor away– in fact, when the whole thing was over, the bond between them seemed even stronger. It was perplexing. His weakness had been appalling, and yet the doctor hadn’t left in disgust.  


Memories of the incident still made Garak feel uncomfortable when he thought about how he had allowed himself to exhibit his vulnerabilities. _Where was your placid exterior there, Elim?_ he heard the reprimand in Tain’s voice.  


The worst part, though, was that he not only felt bad for having shown a more genuine side of himself, but that he actually felt bad at how he had treated the sincere young man who had tried to help him. The man who had entered Cardassian space - had intruded on Enabran Tain himself! - just to save his worthless life. The whole situation was unbelievable.  


And it was then that Garak’s feelings had truly changed. No longer did he hate every moment on the station. After those events, he only loathed _most_ of his time on the station. The one hour that he spent with Dr. Bashir one day a week was a respite. Almost a gift. For one hour he actually felt that there was one person on that whole station that considered him a friend. That there was another being that actually, on some level, cared about him - who wasn’t bothered by what had been, but was simply pleased to spend time with who he was now.  


He shook his head, finishing off the tea. Since when had the desire for companionship even entered into his consciousness? Such longing was dangerous – a weakness waiting to be exploited. It was one thing to indulge in lust with a willing partner. It was another to actually _care._  


And it was this thin line that he had straddled ever since the time of the implant incident. Before, when their acquaintanceship was still young, he had felt comfortable openly flirting in the human manner with the beautiful young man. There was nothing to lose. Either his advances wouldn’t work- in which case he could continue with impunity and simply enjoy making the doctor blush and stutter. Or his advances _would_ work and he could indulge himself with a pretty plaything. But now, after all that they had been through, he felt he had to be more careful. Oh, he would continue to act as though nothing was different… but there was a small part of him that worried. For the first time in a long time, he actually had something more to be taken from him. He didn’t wish to lose the companionship of the young man who had crept into his heart and who seemed to have taken up a permanent residence there.  


He refused to give a name to the emotion he felt. It was unacceptable, and he quickly wiped it from his mind.  


Garak settled himself into bed and thought about how long it was before his next lunch with Bashir. He sighed and closed his eyes.  


When Garak finally drifted off into sleep, his overwrought mind allowed itself a brief moment of happiness; he was back on Cardassia Prime, walking through the gardens of the Beltet desert - a beautiful, hopelessly oblivious, doctor at his side.


	2. Residual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A broken tricorder, a silver tennis outfit, a Danish prince, introspection, and a Ferengi observes more than Garak would like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at naming chapters.

When Bashir woke the next morning, the scent of smoke, mint, and citrus still lingered in his quarters. He smiled, thinking of how nice it had been to talk with Garak without the pressure of the end of his lunch hour looming. But even more than that, just spending the evening with his friend seemed to cross some threshold. His impromptu visit and the fact that they had just been able to relax together just made it feel like something had changed, and for some reason the thought made his stomach feel like it was full of butterflies.

Dragging himself out of bed, the doctor readied himself for work; mentally planning the tasks he intended to complete. But once he got to the infirmary, he found that he didn’t really feel like doing much of anything. He prepared a panel of Bajoran viruses for experimental testing, but his thoughts increasingly turned to Garak. He remembered how flustered he had been when Garak first approached him in the replimat – the Cardassian’s coy looks and suggestive manner had taken him off guard. His experience with Cardassians had been limited, but he had formed in his mind an idea that they were all obsessively militaristic, egomaniacal, and harsh. Well, Garak was certainly egotistical, but aside from the incident with the implant, he had never been anything but genteel. _Of course, that is just part of his act,_ the doctor reproached himself - but on some level he knew that wasn’t entirely true. He had seen Garak plaster on his deceptions for others; for Captain Siskop, for Odo- But when Garak talked with him, there was a slightly different tenor to his voice. A (dare he say kindness?) in his words. An indulgence.

With sadness, Bashir supposed it was something else. _He sees me a child to be coddled. A diversion incapable of fathoming him, so he doesn’t make it too difficult for me._

Bashir sighed as he introduced some strains of Hykelian S into five of the Bajoran virus samples.

Bashir so wished that he could learn more about his friend, but after all of their lunches together, he rather suspected that Garak would always remain a mystery- and for reasons that he was only recently letting through to his conscious mind, the thought pained him. 

A crashing noise shook him from his thoughts and he looked to where his tricorder lay smashed upon the ground. _*Focus, Julian!_ he admonished himself. It was very unlike him to be so distracted in his work. What had gotten in to him?

 _Sentimentality,_ he heard the word in Garak’s voice, dripping with traces of exasperation at his foolishly human ways.

But Bashir couldn’t help it. Periods like this occurred occasionally, and he had found the only way to deal with them was to wade them out. To recognize and let pass the rekindling of his memories of his youth, the thoughts of his aunt, and the nostalgia for a time when he had felt loved for who he was, not what he had been forced to become.

Not for the first time, he tried to imagine what his life would have been like had he not been “enhanced.” Was his aunt right- that his development was just taking a little longer- but that one day he would have been just like everyone else? Or were his parents right? Had there been something fundamentally wrong with him– something so badly adjusted that he would never have been able to learn? Would he have been accepted into Starfleet? Would he have been able to become a doctor? He loved his work, and if being enhanced was the only way that he could have accomplished what he had, then he had to admit that it had been worth it. But what if it hadn’t been necessary at all? What if he could have avoided all of the hiding? Avoided all of the lies? Even if he hadn’t been able to join Starfleet, perhaps he could have still been a doctor. Or maybe he could have been a healer in the Beledi sect and practiced medicine in a different way?

Wasn’t that part of the reason he had come here, so far removed from everything familiar? Not just to escape scrutiny, but to actually do something of value? To discover cures and treatments that others couldn’t? To practice medicine in a way that couldn’t be taught in a school, but could only be learned through hands-on experience and sheer determination?

When they had first met, Major Kira had been scornful of his desire to perform “frontier medicine,” but she hadn’t really understood what he was saying. Sure, he could have stayed on Earth- a doctor in a successful Parisian practice, accomplished and revered- taking his devoted wife Palis to cafes along the Seine and attending state functions as one of the preeminent doctors on Earth. But what would any of that have meant? Those things were meaningless to him because they would have been just a result of his enhancements. Maybe, had he remained, plain, “unenhanced” Jules it would have been alright, because he actually would have earned the prestige. But his parents had forced him to become Julian. Since his existence already had been dictated so much by others, how could he be satisfied with a pre-scripted, predictable life of idle luxury and repetitive prestige?

Of course it was pointless running these mental circles, he realized. He just wished he could take his mind off of everything.

He found himself regretting that it wasn’t the day when he customarily had lunch with Garak. Even though he knew that the Cardassian delighted in frustrating him at every turn, there was an odd feeling of comfort when they debated, and it always astounded him just how much he enjoyed their conversations. 

As much as he cared for his colleagues, so often he felt like they just tolerated him. Sure, he and Miles could play darts or have holosuite adventures, and they could have a lot of fun, but their conversations weren’t… well… all that mentally stimulating. And he enjoyed talking with Jadzia, of course, but he knew she still found his interest in her to be greatly amusing, and it sometimes felt like she was laughing at him just because _she_ had 8 lifetimes of experience and he was only on number one. Major Kira and Odo were great and he respected them both, but they were just so intense, and he sometimes felt exhausted after talking with them. And with all of them he felt like he had to be so careful not to give any clue that he was different. Whereas with Garak, he felt that he could be more himself. Their similarly matched wits allowed him to relax his self-restraint, and they could actually debate without him fearing that he would give himself and his increased intelligence away.

As he puttered around the infirmary, he briefly thought about dropping by the tailor’s shop, but decided against it. Some part of him was nervous about appearing too eager for the Cardassian’s company. But after the pleasantness of the previous night, he decided that one lunch per week seemed sort of paltry. Instead, he thought that he had the perfect plan for implementing another weekly event that he could look forward to.

* * * 

On the day of their lunch, Garak settled himself down at their usual table a little bit before he knew the doctor would arrive, absent-mindedly perusing a PADD, but darting his eyes up every few seconds in the direction of the infirmary. Watching the doctor bound up the steps, (completely unaware that he was being watched), provided Garak with a delightful little unguarded glimpse of the doctor. The Cardassian’s face remained motionless, but he smiled inwardly. He loved watching the slightly awkward way that the young human walked- as though his arms and legs were just a touch too long. Garak knew that those perceptions were deceptive, though. He had watched Bashir play racquetball with Chief O’Brien, and had been astounded at the doctor’s unbelievable speed and agility. And in spite of his amazing athletic prowess, a few times during their matches, it had seemed that the doctor had been restraining himself. The notion was absurd, of course, because the only point in doing such a thing would have been to lure the Chief into a false sense of security in the effort to make the killing stroke when least expected. No other thought made sense. Yet the match had gone by without any deciding advantage, so obviously Garak’s instinct had been mistaken.

No doubt his keen observational skills had been distracted by the revealing little outfit the doctor had unwittingly worn to tease him. 

“Hello Garak.” Bashir sat after getting his food, starting his meal with his usual sip of extra sweet Tarkalean tea. The tailor looked up as though he had been engrossed in what he was reading. “Oh, doctor. You startled me.”

Bashir looked at him skeptically, but didn’t say anything. “What are you reading?” 

“I am trying to read this insufferable play you recommended. I really must say this Shakespeare fellow is quiet overrated. Here I thought Julius Caesar was naïve. Now, in this one, a whole kingdom is completely left adrift because of foolish intrigue and sentimental preoccupation, leaving it completely open for this Fortinbras fellow. They even knew he was coming! But instead of preparing for battle, they do his job for him. At least the ending is just.”

“Just? Everyone dies!” Bashir spluttered. 

“Rightly so. Not one character could tear themselves away from their own petty problems long enough to think of the state. They were totally undeserving of the responsibilities that had been bestowed upon them, and their inability to fight for the good of their kingdom only shows that they deserved to be conquered. The kingdom’s only hope was that Fortinbras would come and put the state back on track.”

Bashir smiled his challenge. “I thought you might at least appreciate some of Hamlet’s musings.” 

“Intellectual pursuits are delightful in moderation, but thought without action is just so much mental…diversion. All of Hamlet’s “musings” as you call them, seemed only to remind the man how much he loved the sound of his own voice.”

Bashir smiled sarcastically. “Well, I don’t know anyone like that.” 

Garak allowed a slight purr to color his words. “Ah, but my dear doctor, you should not be so hard on yourself. You have such a delightful voice that your tendency to rattle on is almost charming.”

Bashir gave him a withering glare. “Well, perhaps some of these will be more to your liking.” He handed Garak a datastick. “It’s long, but I’ve marked some of my favorites if you want to start with them.”

“Thank you, doctor. And what is it?”

“It’s a collection of stories called _One-thousand and One Arabian Nights_. I grew up with them, and I have been looking through them again. Funnily enough, doctors and tailors figure into a few of the stories quiet prominently.”

As they ate, they parried their arguments, slipping easily from subject to subject. But as their lunch came to an end, Garak felt his heart sink, regretting the full stretch of days between that moment and the next time he got to see the doctor. He picked fitfully at his dessert.

“…which is why I think Bentalek murals are one of the finest forms of high art in the sector,” Bashir concluded. 

Garak opened his mouth to counter, but the doctor’s attention was suddenly pulled to his chronometer. “Oh, I completely lost track of time. I have to be getting back.” Bashir stood and gathered his lunch items.

The tailor stood as well and bowed slightly. “Of course. It was a pleasure as always, doctor.” 

Bashir stopped and turned to smile at the Cardassian- the curve of his lips and the teasing look in his eyes made Garak’s breath catch in his throat. “Oh, but before I go, I wanted to ask if you would like to come by my quarters tomorrow night? Around 20 hundred? I thought we might indulge in a little more vice.” 

Garak suddenly felt like a dead man pardoned. “I would be delighted,” he said sincerely.

“Great. See you tomorrow, then.” 

He watched the doctor as he walked away, his dessert completely forgotten. 

“All these years, and I’ve never seen you look at anyone like you look at him.” 

Garak shook himself and realized Quark was sniggering behind him. “I don’t know what you mean,” Garak said, keeping his face impassive. 

“No, I’m sure you don’t.” the Ferengi said dryly. 

Garak put on his best “haughty indignation” face. “I am not sure what you are insinuating, Quark. Even if I were a spy- which I am not- it is not as though the good doctor has any useful information.” He hoped that the… what was the Earth phrase… “red herring?” was enough to divert the Ferengi’s all too knowing smirk.

“Oh, I wasn’t insinuating anything. Just observing. It’s in a bartender’s best interest to observe his customers. Anticipating the needs of potential buyers results in good profit.”

“We’re not in your bar, and I am rarely a customer.”

“True - but Dr. Bashir is often in my bar. And he’s been very distracted the last few nights, Chief O’Brien has won far more games of darts than usual. And I think if I could just figure out the reason for his distraction, it might lead to quite a tidy sum of latinum.”

“Perhaps the doctor has a new lady friend that is distracting him,” Garak suggested.

“Yes. Perhaps that’s it.” The Ferengi fixed him with a stare that Garak matched. “Or something like that, at least. Not that it’s any of my business, of course. Just curious. Romance is good for business – chocolates, flowers, aphrodisiacs…intimate supplies… the trappings of hu-mon mating are ripe for the acquisition of profit.”

“I may have to start stocking more lingerie, then. Thank you for the business tip,” Garak said as he gathered his lunch items.

“Don’t mention it,” Quark muttered as the Cardassian left.


	3. 1000 Nights and a Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Bashir prepares his quarters, stories are told, and Garak considers an alternate ending to the evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second part of this does have smut of the "self-love" variety, so if that isn't your thing, don't read past the asterisks.

Bashir rushed about his quarters, trying to get everything ready before Garak arrived. He had turned the thermostat up and assembled the ḡalyān. He had also procured a bottle of kanar from Quark and had even found a few replicator specifications for some of the foods he had most enjoyed when he was a boy. He had decided on serving khoresh-e bademjan, some chelow, and mint tea sweetened with honey. He had no idea what Garak would think of them, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. The tailor had a very specific palette. Still, he found himself hoping for the best. 

The last touch was to adjust the most recent additions to his quarters. Several velvet-covered cushions lay on the floor next to the hookah, creating what he hoped was an inviting atmosphere. While they weren’t quite what he had been looking for initially, the cushions were plump and inviting. He fluffed them up. 

It had been a long time since he had done anything special to prepare his quarters for a guest. Starfleet tended towards minimalism, (to put it mildly), and any personal touches were usually kept neatly in order- making the need for special preparation unnecessary. He found, however, that these last-minute touches and the slight anticipation were rather enjoyable - in a nerve-wracking kind of way.

His heart jumped slightly at the door chime. 

“Enter.”

As Garak came in, Bashir couldn’t quite remember seeing the tailor dressed quite so well. He always looked nice, but the silver suit he was wearing complimented his jet black hair and seemed to make his eyes an even more penetrating blue. Bashir couldn’t help but stare a little in admiration.

“Good evening doctor.” The Cardassian stepped in. “I hope I’m not too early.”

Bashir shook himself. “No, not at all. I’m glad you’re here.” 

Garak smiled and held out a box. ”Here, I brought you this.” 

“You didn’t need to bring anything,” Bashir said, but reached out and took the proffered box. Peeking out between layers of tissue paper was a piece of clothing in a beautiful indigo blue. He took the garment out and marveled at the softness of the fabric, the way the dim illumination glinted off of bright copper threads at the neck, wrists, and hem line. It reminded him of the traditional tunics he had seen at some of the Beledi festivals. “It’s beautiful.” Bashir looked at his friend, and was surprised at the brief look of… nervousness(?)... in his friend’s eyes. It was gone in a moment, replaced by his usual placid glance, but it had been there, Bashir was sure of it. “Thank you.”

Garak was nonchalant again. “Ah, it is actually a very self-serving gift, doctor. Having to be constantly surrounded by those horrid Starfleet uniforms, I find that I am willing to go to great lengths to spare myself from seeing them as often as possible.” Garak leaned in conspiratorially. “And, while your aunt’s gift was lovely, this one has much more even hems.”

Bashir laughed. “Yes, it does.” He debated for a second, but then quickly pulled his shirt off over his head. He could feel Garak’s eyes widen at his actions, and he hoped the Cardassian couldn’t see the way his heart was racing in his chest. Putting on his friend’s gift, he savored the feel of the silken fabric against his skin. He looked up at the tailor. “So, how do I look?”

Garak’s eyes were dilated, his voice low. “Breathtaking.” 

They stood for a moment, Bashir feeling as though the floor had been taken out from under him. He was acutely aware of the cool fabric gliding against his skin, the intensity in Garak’s eyes, and the scent of rosewater and roasted lamb – it was a moment of literal sensuousness that gave him pause.

After a moment, Garak broke eye contact, his glance falling to the cushions. “Ah, so I see we will be back on the floor again tonight.”

Bashir smiled. “It’s traditional.”

The Cardassian “humfed” but Bashir could tell there was no real displeasure in the sound. 

After their repast, Bashir set up the hookah, and they sat smoking companionably, chatting as the doctor spooned the remaining stew over the chelow, feeling pleasantly full and mellow. He watched Garak tilt his head back as he finished his glass of mint tea. The doctor found himself looking at the Cardassian’s neck as he swallowed, idly wondering- not for the first time- about Cardassian physiology. Even during the implant situation, the times he had been allowed to touch his friend had been extremely limited. As they sat there, he wondered just what the skin and scales on his friend’s neck ridges felt like. If they were as tough as they looked, or whether the impression was just as deceptive as Garak’s demeanor. 

“So, doctor. I have been reading your _“One-thousand and One Nights.”_

Bashir stirred himself from his thoughts. “And? What do you think?”

“Well, I must admit, in spite of its occasionally infantile tropes and unnecessarily convoluted and meandering deceptions, there is some value in the texts.”

Garak smiled sweetly.

Bashir couldn't believe his ears. ‘“Convoluted and meandering deceptions?!’ I can’t believe it. You are the master of convoluted and meandering deceptions!”

The Cardassian look at him, wounded pride written all over his face. “Doctor. My deceptions are rarely convoluted and never meandering. The best deception is one that is simple in its duplicity.”

Bashir rolled his eyes. “I stand corrected. And what, pray tell, were some of the stories’ ‘redeeming qualities?”’

“Well, the premise was rather good - a person of high intelligence using conversation and story-telling to save their life.” 

“I thought you might like that.”

“Quite so. And while some of the plots were outlandish and far-fetched, a few of them had some skill behind them. And the story within a story technique was rather interesting. The layered narrative even resembled a rather infamous enigma tale by Peltor called “The Private Labyrinth of Gul Dinset.”

“Infamous? How so? Did it not praise the State highly enough?” 

“Oh, my dear doctor, it hardly mentioned the State at all… which is bad enough! But that wasn’t why it was infamous. It was the first book ever banned on Cardassia. Amazingly well written, but of a highly… controversial… nature. In fact, the author became the first writer on Cardassia Prime to ever be tried and executed on charges of obscenity, promoting the degeneracy of the populace, and moral perversion. All copies of the book were ordered to be destroyed. Even being caught with one could be punishable by hard labor. It is a bit of a shame, too - much of the prose was outstanding.”

Bashir looked at his friend over the rim of his glass. “My dear “plain and simple” Garak, how on earth would you even know anything about such a thoroughly scandalous book?”

Garak smiled in a way that made the blood rise in Bashir’s cheeks. “I wasn’t always the innocent and highly respectable tailor you see before you, doctor. Even I was once young and incorrigible. Though all copies of the book were _supposed_ to have been destroyed, a few still floated around for years. It was quiet common for these books to fall into the hands of impressionable youths. And, alas, I was one of the unfortunate young men that fell prey to its bad influence.”

“Was it really as bad as all that?” Bashir whispered conspiratorially.

“Oh yes.” Garak’s eyes widened in a way that made Bashir shiver. “It would make the very wildest of Quark’s holosuite programs appear mild by comparison.”

“Now I am even more curious to get my hands on it.” Bashir said, fixing his eyes on Garak’s. 

“So that it could claim another young man’s innocence? Perish the thought!” Garak inhaled deeply on the hookah. “But back to the “Thousand and One Nights.” I was hoping that you could enlighten me about what, exactly, some of the creatures described were. For instance, it mentioned Jinn, Ifrits, Shaytans…”

“They’re actually all the same creature, just with different temperaments. Jinn were magical creatures in Islamic folk lore. Earth had many different religions, but three of the main religions, Islam, Christianity, and Judaism, had basically the same creation story – and the traditions described that their deity had formed humans out of dirt. They also had angels, which were sentient, but didn’t have free will. Islam, though, had another sentient race called the Jinn that had free will like humans. Instead of dirt, though, the Jinn were made of fire.”

Garak raised his eye ridges. “It must have been terrible being one of their tailors.”

Bashir laughed. “Well, they weren’t actually _on_ fire. It was their essence. My aunt always told me that if you were to look into the eyes of a Jinn, you would see flames. That their breath was hot as the desert at midday, and that they could burn you with a look.”

“My, what lovely things to tell a young child.”

“Oh, I always loved when she told me stories of the Jinn. They were so much more interesting than the angels. Like humans, they could either be good or bad, but they could change their shape and grant wishes. Often in the tales, an unsuspecting human would come across an oil lamp, and in it a Jinn would be living, and you never knew if he was going to grant the human three wishes or kill him. It was always very exciting, especially the way my aunt told it.”

Garak looked at him curiously. “Humans certainly have an attraction to the mysterious and dangerous, don’t they?”

Bashir looked at the Cardassian though his long lashes and felt his heart race. “It’s an enticing combination.”

* * * 

As Garak lay in his bed, he played out their evening in his mind – while delightful, it had been a bit different than the way their time together usually played out. A slight shift, an increased intimacy, which left him wondering. While their conversations had always had a certain playfulness, there had been something more overt in the doctor’s replies than usual. Forced to put a word to the overall tone of the evening, he would have to say that the doctor’s manner had been coquettish.

And there were other changes; he thought about how the doctor’s eyes had seemed to linger on him when he first entered. After so many years of association, he had finally come to accept that the young man would simply remain an interesting friend, but perhaps…

Garak refrained from following the thought. After so many years of being so humanly _obvious_ in his interest, there was no reason that the doctor would suddenly start reciprocating. No. What was more likely was that Bashir was probably trying to turn the tables on their usual banter. The Cardassian considered it in strategic terms. In a way, the replimat could be considered his domain- he had initially approached the doctor there and it was sufficiently public to keep the Starfleet officer on his “best behavior.” But in the young man’s quarters, perhaps the doctor felt that he had an upper hand. Well, they would have to see about that. 

He did, however, feel that he had a slightly better understanding of how Bashir must have felt during their initial conversations when he had outrageously flirted with the young man. He chuckled a bit at the recollection. To think that the doctor was now trying to outmaneuver him. Ah, foolish boy. 

But, he had shown some skill. The way the young officer had stripped off his shirt right in front of him. Even now, hours after it had happened, Garak felt his mouth go dry thinking about the way the young man’s burnished skin had glowed in the dim light. The way his hair had become tousled after he had pulled on the dark blue tunic. It had been a cunning play. The Cardassian had to admit that his breath had caught in his throat when he saw how perfectly the garment complimented the young man’s every movement; how the copper threads accentuated his beautiful complexion.

Yes, the young man certainly had some skills.

Of course, Garak supposed that his distraction might have more to do with his prolonged and unfortunate dry-spell rather than any real cunning in the doctor’s ploys. It had been some time….

Often during the occupation he had enjoyed giving in to the propositions that young Glinns and Guls offered him, and turning on the charm was first nature to Garak. He was also rather proud of the fact that the majority of individuals he had set his sights on had rather easily fallen into bed with him, even when he had been stationed on Romulus and the Klingon home world.

When the occupation had ended and his exile truly began, though, he was suddenly left very much adrift amongst a sea of people who feared and detested his race. There had been the occasional liaison when visitors came to the station, but such instances had been few and far between. 

Then, his fancy had been turned to a very attractive and naïve Starfleet officer. 

Seduction had initially seemed possible, yet the young man continued to act blissfully unaware of his full intentions. Then, as time went on, he began to consider the same young man a friend, a sparring partner, a protégé- and, as much as he hated to admit it, he had started to actually _care._ So, while he continued to flirt with the doctor (how could he not?) he had tried diligently to keep his advances relatively innocent and focus more on their literary debates than the doctor’s long lean look, sensual lips, and stunning eyes. 

As he continued to ponder, Garak found himself becoming less and less inclined towards sleep, his body very much aware of his thoughts. 

_Oh well,_ he thought, _it’s not really a defeat if the doctor doesn’t know about it…_ He couldn’t help himself- he closed his eyes and envisioned a very different way the night could have played out. Instead of staring at the doctor as he took off his shirt, he imagined what it would have felt like to pull the young man into his arms and taste his lips. He felt his heart beating unsteadily in his chest as he let his hand stroke down his chest to finally settle on his sex. He imagined the doctor responding to his advances, the passion which he had seen so often alight in Bashir’s eyes in other circumstances suddenly in play as the young officer kissed him. He thought about how he could have dragged the doctor over to those thick cushions, pushed him down, and descended on him – devoured him. He thought about running his tongue from the underside of the doctor’s jaw all the way down. Of quickly divesting the man of his remaining clothes, and pulling his heated flesh into his mouth. He hadn’t had a human before, but could imagine the taste, the feeling of his sex in his mouth as he tongued the soft, fragile, skin. He considered what the doctor might sound like as he was pleasured. Would he be soft and sentimental like humans so often were? Or would he be sharp and crass and dirty? Either way, the possibilities brought him so close to his own release, that when he imagined the doctor’s release pulsating down his throat, Garak too, came.

Finally relaxed, his mind started approaching sleep. He thought about what Bashir had said about the Jinn from early Earth folklore, and thought that surely the doctor would taste like fire.


	4. Dinazades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two female friends help Bashir and Garak sort through some of their feelings.

Bashir took a long drink of his third raktajino of the morning. No matter how much caffeine he drank, though, the numbers on the PADD still seemed to wiggle and shift. He leaned back and sighed. 

The doctor had been feeling quite happy when he had gone to bed the other night after Garak’s last visit. The evening had been very enjoyable, and he was already thinking about the next time he could invite Garak over. It had been a long, physically-draining week, so he fell asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Yet, far from being restful, his sleep had been plagued by exceptionally… vivid… dreams. Sitting at his desk, he couldn’t help but blush at the memories. 

One of the many results from his being enhanced was that he often remembered his dreams in their entirety— as though they were movies he had watched repeatedly. He wished, as he tried desperately to do some work, that his mind could just once let him rest.

The dream from that first night had been one of the milder ones, and had started innocently enough. He was back on Earth, in one of the souks he and his aunt would visit during his childhood. They wandered about— examining bolts of cloth, smelling the delicious odors of the street vendors’ food, feeling the bright sun on their faces. At some point though (in perfect dream logic), he was no longer with his aunt and he was a cadet again on a break from his studies. As he walked through labyrinthine alleyways, he knew there was something slightly illicit in his purpose, and his nerves were wound tight. He walked quickly— he knew he had to be somewhere. His steps took him down one alley, and another, and another until he came to an ornately decorated building. He looked around to see if anyone was looking, but the street was deserted. He quickly ducked inside.

The anteroom was hot and the air was full of steam. He could feel the heat embrace his now-naked body. Instinctively he knew that if he went through the door on his right there would be a pool, and his body craved the cool feeling of taking a dip after being in the hot, suffocating air. 

He walked through the door, and as the steam cleared. The surface of the pool looked like liquid mercury.. He felt frozen to the spot as he saw a figure with jet black hair and grey skin emerge from the pool. Steady blue eyes fixed him to his spot, and he couldn’t move. Bashir stared at the beauty and grace of the solid body emerging from the pool, and marveled at the way the water droplets rippled down ridges and scales. He looked down and saw that Garak’s sex was heavy and erect, and realized his own was the same way. 

Then suddenly the Cardassian was seated on a long bench, his skin glowing in the dim light. He smiled at Bashir, and the doctor felt his heart beating wildly at the lascivious light in the Cardassian's eyes. He licked his lips and kneeled at his friend's feet, looking up. Garak ran a hand through the doctor's hair and Bashir leaned into the touch, kissing the broad palm. 

"Julian, my love."

Bashir ran his hands up along the insides of Garak’s thighs, and he watched Garak drop his head back with a moan. The doctor leaned up and kissed his friend's neck ridges, tracing soft lips down his chest and then lower– over his stomach, across his hips. Maintaining eye contact, Bashir lowered his head and licked the head of the Cardassian's sex. He could feel his own erection heavy between his legs— felt desire welling in the pit of his stomach. The heat around them was intense; the movement of Garak's hand through his hair enticing; the sounds escaping from his mouth driving him crazy… 

Bashir woke suddenly, sweating and breathing hard. He had forgotten to turn the heat down after Garak had left for the evening, and the room was stiflingly hot- the sheets clinging to his moist skin. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

But one remnant of the dream was unable to be so easily wiped away. His sex was heavy and wanting. He covered his head with his pillow and groaned into it. There was no way he was getting back to sleep without dealing with his current situation. Damn Garak and that silver suit! 

The doctor had tried since the very beginning of their association to keep his feelings at bay. Even during their initial conversation, he had been enthralled by the tailor-— intoxicated by the air of mystery and danger that the suspected spy had projected. The fact that the station’s resident Cardassian spy had also been attracted to him only increased the doctor’s distraction. Bashir remembered feeling like a nervous schoolboy, awkwardly enchanted by the older man’s easy grace and silken words… so enchanted, in fact, that he had run into Ops like a complete git and rambled on to the whole crew about their encounter. 

He had fought his impulses, though. He knew that even their friendship was viewed by some of his colleagues as folly on his part. Yet he enjoyed the Cardassian's company so much that even the warnings of his friends had been powerless to stop his association with the tailor. But anything more than friendship... he could only imagine the complications. 

Bashir groaned again. 

Unfortunately it seemed his body and subconscious were conspiring against his better judgment. The dream was still playing in his mind. The eroticism of seeing the Cardassian's naked body and the arousing fire that going down on him had lit in his veins were still making Bashir’s heart beat fast. There was no point in denying it, and he did have to try and get back to sleep…

Closing his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to return to the bathhouse, re-imagining the dream. He began stroking himself and imagined that this time, their positions were reversed. Now he sat on the bench and Garak was between his knees. He fantasized that it was Garak's broad palm that was bringing him pleasure. He could imagine the self-satisfied smirk that the tailor would give him, and didn’t even bother to think how strange it was that being conquered by the Cardassian sent such pleasant shivers through his body.

Then he imagined Garak’s sensual mouth- laving his sex, sucking it. He imagined running his fingers through the Cardassian's thick black hair, pushing his head further down. He could feel the tension building in his muscles. He tried to focus on details— how it would feel to have Garak's throat around him. He thought of the Cardassian's hands grasping his thighs, moving between his legs. He imagined Garak looking up him, his eyes filled with lust. Bashir’s heart was beating hard — he was so close. Then he imagined Garak sliding a finger inside of him... then another... Oh!

The power of his orgasm had surged through his body, and for long moments he felt the pulsations of his release crashing like waves through his consciousness. 

So now it was the fifth morning in a row where he had awoken feeling more tired than when he had gone to bed. His dreams continued to be plagued by the tailor, and no matter how many sleeping aids he took, or how many times he tried to lucid dream his way out of his subconscious’ scenarios, he always wound up back with the Cardassian in one erotic manner or another. 

His eyes drifted shut for just a moment when he heard a gentle tap on his office door. Looking up, he saw Jadzia cradling her elbow.

“I hope I’m not waking you,” she said playfully, but her voice was pinched.

He walked toward her, readying his tricorder to scan her injury. “No, of course not. What happened?”

“Oh, I fell during a Klingon exercise program. I think I pulled a ligament.”

“You have. Two in fact,” He said as he set about healing her injuries.

“Oh, that feels much better.” She said, flexing her arm back and forth, and then fixed him with a stern eye. “Now it’s my turn.”

He looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

She fixed him with her usual _Come off it, you’re not fooling anyone_ stare. “Julian, you look like death. What’s the matter?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Nothing. Just a bit tired.” He turned away to walk back to his chair, hoping she would let it drop. He should have known better. She followed him and perched herself on his desk. 

“I’d hardly say it’s nothing. For almost the past week, you have been yawning in briefings, drinking enough raktajino to set a Higilian razorbeast on edge, and I have caught you dozing on no less than four occasions. Miles and Nerys have seen you too.” She leaned down and looked in his eyes. “We’re worried about you. So spill.”

He rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply. “I’ve just not been sleeping very well. Really, it’s nothing.”

“Have you tried a sleep aid?”  
“I’ve tried _every_ sleep aid. Nothing helps.”

She smiled. “Have you tried hot milk?”

He sighed. “Yes, I’ve even tried hot milk.”

“Well, what’s keeping you up?”

He looked away and started to straighten the PADDS on his desk. “I don’t know. Just work I guess.”

She took the PADDS out of his hand and fixed him with another stare. “Work has been slow. Now tell me the real reason.”

He felt his jaw tighten. Why did she always have to push!? “I’ve just been having some really weird dreams.”

“Nightmares?”

“Not exactly.” He could feel himself blushing— even thinking about the dreams was arousing.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled in an all-too-knowing way. “Oh. I see. Anyone I know?”

He felt exasperated. “Look, Jadzia, I would really rather not talk about it.”

She got off of his desk. “You know, it has been a while since you’ve dated anyone. It might just be your mind’s way of telling you to get back in the game.”

He rolled his eyes. “No, I think it is my mind’s way of torturing me.”

She walked to his side and touched his shoulder. “You know, Julian, I’ve been around a while. And if there is one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you have to take every opportunity to find happiness that comes along.” She looked into his eyes. “Have you told this person how you feel?”

“I can’t. It would be too complicated.” 

She smiled evilly. “It’s not Miles is it?”

He felt mortified “Jadzia!”

“Just checking.” She laughed. “It’s just, I know he’s married and I can see how that would be awkward. I just don’t know who else would make things so “complicated.” Maybe Benjamin, since he’s your commanding officer, but even so…”

He groaned. “Do we have to do this?”

She laughed again. “I’m just saying that if you care about this person, which it seems pretty obvious that you do, there isn’t really much excuse not to come out with it.”

He glared at her. “And what if it was you?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Then you would have been a lot more fidgety when we started this conversation. Also, having seven lifetimes has helped me to pick up on that type of thing.” 

He buried his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Jadzia.” 

She took his arm and pulled him out of his chair. “You’re going to have lunch with me and tell me all about it.”

Never letting go of his arm, Jadzia led them to the Klingon restaurant. She was kind enough to make random small talk as they walked, but once they sat down, she started in again. 

“Alright Julian, let’s hear it.”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know what to tell you. It’s just that I have been having very… vivid… dreams about someone I’ve known for a while, and I don’t know what it means.” 

“And how does this person feel about you?”

“I don’t know. Not for sure, anyway. I mean, sometimes I feel I know all too well, but then— it’s just really hard to know anything about this person.”

“Well how do they act around you?”

“Well, we’re friends, so… friendly?”

“Just friendly?” 

“Maybe more than friendly,” he admitted begrudgingly. Then in a rush. “I just don’t know what’s real and what’s just an act. He acts as thought it would kill him to tell me the truth about anything!”

“Perhaps you should just come out and ask Garak how he feels.”

“I couldn’t do tha…” He looked up at her sharply, his eyes wide. She raised her hand to stop any angry reply he might come up with. ‘“ _I don’t know what’s real and what’s just an act? He acts as thought it would kill him to tell me the truth?’_ It’s fairly obvious you were talking about the station’s resident liar, Julian.”

He swallowed and closed his eyes. “What am I going to do, Jadzia? We’re friends, but… anything more? It’s ridiculous.”

She looked honestly confused. “Why?”

“Why!? Isn’t it obvious?”

She shrugged. “Not really. Why don’t you tell me?”

“Well, for one thing, he’s a spy!” 

She smiled sweetly. “Well, you are rather fond of spy games.”

“But those are just games. He’s… well… he was the real thing.”

“And now he’s a tailor. If that was the real reason this was bothering you, I don’t think you two would have become friends in the first place.” She shook her head. “Sorry Julian, I don’t think his past is the real reason you’re having problems with this.”

He paused. “Well, we don’t really have anything in common.”

“You seem to have enough in common that you can talk for hours on end. I’ve seen you two together— you obviously have a connection.” 

Bashir thought about it. What exactly was the problem? Yes, Garak had been a member of the Obsidian Order, but that was years ago. He obviously repented many of the things he’d done. When the Cardassian thought he had been on his death bed during the implant scare, the most important thing to him was that he received Bashir's forgiveness for his former sins. If he didn’t regret at least some of the things he had done, he wouldn’t have craved absolution so badly. And when Garak had returned from the Gamma Quadrant, the Cardassian had been badly affected by what he had done to Odo. He hadn't said it in so many words, but Bashir had seen pained looks flit across his face whenever the constable walked by. 

As for their personalities, their similarities did seem to outweighed their differences. They were both exiles in a way. Garak from his home world, Bashir because of his genetic enhancements. They both felt the need to not be too much in the spot light. They had similar senses of humor and the same love of art and literature (even if they didn't always agree on _what_ constituted fine art and literature). They both cared deeply about the things that were dear to them. They both enjoyed each other’s company, obviously. So, it wasn’t that they were too different. 

So what did that leave? The fact that they were both male? Did he really feel that stigma? On some level he supposed he did— he had always tried so hard to be suave with the ladies, and aside from a few drunken, late-night experiments when he was a cadet, he had maintained the front that he was totally straight. But in his heart...

That had been as much a part of his act as the rest of his personality. It was part of his façade, designed to keep people from getting too close to the truth. His very life had depended on discretion, on always coming in second place, on never standing out too much. He was expected— not just by his parents, but by everyone— to be predictable. To not rock the boat or do anything unexpected. 

Jadzia interrupted his thoughts. “What it is, Julian, is you’re afraid of what others would think. But you should give your friends a little more credit. We only want you to be happy.” She reached out and took his hand. “Which means, the only thing for you to decide is whether being with Garak would make you happy or not. And if it would, don’t you owe it to yourself to give it a try?”

“Honestly, Jadzia, I don’t know.”

* * *

Garak swirled the contents of his mug fitfully as he sat in the Celestial Cafe, his breakfast hardly touched. His evening with Bashir the other night and his subsequent fantasies had renewed the feelings he had been trying so diligently to suppress. He was conflicted. Every fiber of his former Obsidian Order operative self was screaming to end it. To say something so horrible that the doctor would never want to see him again. He told himself that only destruction lay ahead, for both he and the doctor, if he allowed his feelings to take control. It tried to reason with him in a silken voice. _If you really cared for the doctor, you would never see him again. Those that wish you harm would gladly use him against you. Your enemies would not hesitate to hurt him, to kill him, if it would cause you pain._

But there was another part of his mind, the part that played at being "plain and simple,” the part that had been around humans and Bajorans too long, that couldn't accept the operative's logical advice. His romantic heart, which he thought had shriveled and died long ago, sprung suddenly back to life. 

“Good morning constable,” Chalon said in a rather loud voice, breaking the relative silence of the restaurant and dragging Garak from his thoughts. He looked up to see the lovely Bajoran woman looking at Odo as he walked by on his rounds. Letting a bemused smile settle on his face, Garak allowed himself to watch the little scene play out. 

When Odo was out of sight, the tailor saw Chalon’s shoulders slump just a little. Poor thing, Garak thought. He watched her walk over to the counter dejectedly and pick up her morning tea. As though she sensed his gaze, she looked at him. He gave her a little smile, and she walked over to his table.

“Good morning, Mr. Garak.” 

“Good morning, Chalon. You are looking lovely as always,” he said— and meant it. She was a lovely woman and he couldn’t help but think Odo a fool for not noticing her. 

“Well thank you. Do you mind if I sit?”

“I would be delighted.” Even though she had invited herself to join him, she didn’t seem in a rush to say anything-obviously lost in her thoughts.

Garak reached across the table and laid his hand over hers. “You mustn’t take it personally, my dear. In spite of his keen observational skills in all other things, the constable is completely oblivious in matters of the heart.”

Chalon blushed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Well, let’s just say that the way you glow when you look at him is hard to miss.”

She looked at him desperately. “I just don’t know what to do. Every morning he walks by and every morning I try to get up the nerve to talk to him.” Her face was sad. “Have you ever been in love with someone who hardly even knew you existed?”

Did he? While he normally was able to prevent his emotions from showing, some little expression must have betrayed him, because suddenly Chalon’s eyes were wide. “Oh dear, you do know what it feels like, don’t you?”

He resumed his placid exterior. “Well, I believe everyone has experienced that at one time or another,” he said evasively. 

“Did you ever tell them how you felt?”

“I believe it would be unwise to tell this person how I truly feel.”

“You mean you’re feeling that way right now?”

In spite of himself, he felt his smile tighten. There was a time when he hadn’t made these types of mistakes. But Chalon’s look was so empathetic. He was genuinely surprised. Normally Bajorans only looked at him with hate and distrust— but her glance was filled with kindness. He figured there was no use denying it now.

“Well, perhaps. But it is rather complicated.”

“Aren’t all relationships?” She looked into her mug, speaking quietly. “When I was young, there was a trader who came to our province every few weeks. He would set up his stall and sell all manner of beautiful things. He was very quiet, not like the other traders that would yell at passersby to hawk their wares”

“I worked as a street vendor in the market. Day in and day out there would be a line for my food. No matter how much I sold, though, I never seemed to have a penny. My mother was sick, and everything I earned went either back into the food or went to buy her medicine.

“One day, I looked up from my cooking, and the trader was standing at the front of the line. I knew him by sight, but had never spoken to him or visited his stall. How could I when I was so busy? But as he stood there, he held up a beautiful red scarf. It was colored like the sunset. He asked if I would be willing to trade a meal for the scarf. There I was; sweating, my hair disheveled, my apron covered in food splatters, and all I could do was worry if I would have enough money for the next dose of my mother’s medicine. I didn’t need a scarf, I needed the money.”

“I told him I couldn’t take it. That I was sorry.”

“He wasn’t upset; he just nodded his head and turned away. I didn’t think about it again until later that evening when I was closing down my cart. I was packing things up when I saw a splash of red amongst my things. It was the scarf. I looked around, but he was nowhere to be found. The next day, his stall wasn’t set up. I didn’t see him again for many weeks.”

“In the Spring, he came back to my cart at lunchtime, and this time he help up a blue scarf. I hadn’t even had the opportunity to thank him for the other one. I told him that I couldn’t take the scarf in return for a full meal, but I told him that if he came back at the end of the night, I would share with him whatever I still had left. He came that night and gave me the blue scarf. We talked for a long time. I told him about my mother. He said that he had no family left, that everyone was gone. But he spoke of the people he met during his journeys. It was a nice escape for me to imagine all of the things that he’d seen.” 

“For months the same routine happened whenever he came to my village. I began to have a very large collection of scarves.”

“Between work and my mother’s illness, though, I had little time to think about anything but surviving. I certainly wasn’t looking for a husband, and I simply saw the trader as a fellow Bajoran who was just trying to survive.”

“Several months went by and I didn’t think much of not seeing him. Then one night a young boy delivered a letter to me. It was from the trader. It had been dispatched weeks before, but correspondences were often delayed during the occupation— if they came through at all. The letter said that he was to be executed the next morning. He had been part of the resistance; a courier in supplies. I couldn’t believe it. He had seemed so quiet and meek, I couldn’t imagine him doing anything so daring.”

“In the letter, he wrote that he regretted none of his actions. What he did regret was his inaction; he regretted that he hadn’t been able to work up the courage to tell me how he had come to look forward to our time together. How much it had meant to him to simply talk with me over our simple food. He said he regretted that he had never been able to tell me that he loved me.”

She looked back into Garak’s eyes. “Whenever I see Odo, I remember that letter. But I still can’t bring myself to tell him anything. I don’t know if I will ever be able to get him to notice me.”

Garak squeezed her hand. “Then together, my dear, we shall just have to figure out a way to open the constable’s eyes to the obvious.”

Quickly, he outlined a plan. They would figure out a day when she had some free time from her restaurant, and on some pretext or another, he would lure Odo to his shop. She would be wearing a beautiful dress, (designed by the station’s resident couture genius), and when the constable arrived, she would exit the fitting room. Ta Da!

“He will be totally unable to resist your charms, my dear. I offer you my professional guarantee.”

He was happy to see her smiling again as she blushed at him. “I would never have guessed you to be a matchmaker, Mr. Garak.”

He tilted his head slyly. “When presented with such a perfect opportunity, how could I resist?”

She giggled. “Well, since you have already figured out the way to introduce me to the man of my dreams, I believe it is time for us to devise a plan for you.”

He held up his hand. “Chalon, really, the situation is quite different. I assure you, it is best if I remain quiet about whatever feelings I may be having for this person.”

“So that one day you can write a letter to them when all hope of winning their affection is gone?”  
He fixed her with a steely gaze. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

His first instinct was to lash out, but the tenderness in her touch kept him civil. “I’m just a heartless Cardassian, Chalon. I know nothing of love. Surely, after the occupation, you know this to be true.”

She didn’t look away. “What I know is that the only reason my mother lived as long as she did was because a kind Glinn, who just happened to enjoy my cooking, smuggled medicine to me for almost two years after it disappeared from the medical centers, and he never once asked for anything in return… What I know is that a Cardassian tailor just devised a plan for me to finally talk with the object of my affection... What I know is that when I look into your eyes, I see a man who is lonely and deserves a chance at happiness.”

Garak sighed. Oh how the mighty had fallen. There he was— a former operative in the Obsidian Order, Tain’s right-hand— about to reveal his secrets to a Bajoran. 

“My dear, I am quite happy with the way things are. The person I… care for… is a close associate, and I would much rather retain their companionship than risk losing them due to sentimental emotions. They are much younger than I am, and they have no trouble finding partners that are much more suited to their taste. I very much doubt they would be interested in pursuing anything more than friendship.”

“But how can you know if you don’t ask her? She may just be waiting for you to make the first move.”

Garak cleared his throat. “It’s more complicated than that. I highly doubt he would take kindly to me mentioning my feelings.”

Her eyes widened a little, but her hand didn’t move from his. “And you don’t think he would be interested in pursuing a more intimate relationship with another man?”

Garak smiled wryly. “He is very much interested in female companionship.”

“Are you talking about Dr. Bashir?” In spite of himself, he flinched. She spoke quietly. “I only ask because I have seen you having lunch together often. You both seem to enjoy each other’s company very much.” 

“He is the only person on this station who hasn’t looked on me as an enemy...” he said as he smiled sadly at her. “With a few exceptions.”

She squeezed his hand. “You must be so lonely here.”

He shrugged in a way that admitted that what she said was correct, but that he was resigned. “Which is why I must ask you: please, forget we had this conversation. I cannot risk losing his companionship.” 

She nodded. “As you wish.”

He smiled. “Thank you.” He gently took his hand from her and stood up. “Now, I really should get back to my shop. After all, I have a very special dress to make for a very beautiful woman.”

She blushed. “Oh, Mr. Garak, you and your silver tongue.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The quote is from Muḥammad ibn Yūsuf Ibn al-Ashtarkūnī's Al-Maqāmāt Al-luzūmīyah

_“May God will that, as long as I am in exile, I will never be deprived of your bickering friendship.*_

With a groan, Bashir tossed his book down. Even literature was conspiring against him. No matter what he did, everything seemed to remind him of Garak.

He leaned his head back. “What am I going to do?” he asked the ceiling of his quarters.

After his conversation with Jadzia the previous day, the doctor had been forced to finally admit to himself that what he felt for Garak was far more than mere friendship. He had gone home that evening and thought about all the time they had spent together. Their first meeting, their weekly lunches, their trip to Bajor during the Cardassian war-orphan situation, their struggles when the implant malfunctioned, the relief he had felt when Garak and Odo made it back from the Gamma Quadrant… Through newly opened eyes, he came to understand that he had harbored feelings for the tailor for a surprisingly long time. And it was not the initial flush of infatuation that he was all too familiar with. All of their playful flirtation had sneaked into his subconscious; all of the friendly affection he held for the Cardassian had taken root and had grown into… something else.

And it was the “something else” that was eating at him. Yes, he had been intrigued by Garak from the beginning— but physical attraction was one thing. What was physical attraction but a series of biochemical reactions? They were hardly in a person’s control at all. Scientifically he could understand that. But when it came to deeper feelings…

He reflected on the relationship he’d had with Palis— the only person that he had even considered as a potential mate. She had been so delightful; intelligent, graceful, witty. Everything he could have ever wanted in a partner. They had been together for almost a year… but as the anniversary loomed, he started to worry. As close as they had been, he had never been able to truly be himself— not fully— because in the back of his mind he was afraid of what would happen if she found out about his enhancements. There had been the niggling fear that she would turn on him— disappointed not just by his dishonesty, but the idea that he was, in a way, faking all of his success. She had been so impressed with his accomplishments that he wasn’t sure she would still be interested if he didn’t perfectly match her preconceptions of him.

And, as brilliant as she was, he feared that she would eventually cease to stimulate him intellectually.

Garak, on the other hand, kept him constantly on his toes. No matter how much he analyzed his friend’s words and deeds, he knew there were always greater depths to be plumbed. This, more than mere physical attraction, had lured him to the Cardassian.

He also seriously doubted that Garak would hold his enhancements against him. He could even imagine the look of admiration that Garak would give him if he ever found out. He could practically hear his words: _“My dear doctor, it appears I have underestimated your ability to be deceptive and disingenuous. I must say, I’m quite proud of you!”_

In fact, there had been one or two times when he had almost thrown a hint out to Garak about his enhancements. He had resisted, of course, but so rare were the times he got to play the feline in their little games of cat and mouse, that astounding his friend about his genetic enhancements would have been quite interesting— if for no other reason than to see a genuine look of surprise on the Cardassian’s face.

These thoughts in themselves gave him cause for concern. Even though he hadn’t acted on his impulses, the very fact that he had momentarily entertained the idea of revealing himself to his friend was enough to assert the depths of his affection. To share something that he had worked so hard all his life to hide would be incredibly relieving, but would also make him vulnerable— it would be the most intimate thing he could imagine doing.

Some part of him thrilled at the idea— of trusting one person in the whole galaxy enough to be himself— and to feel fairly certain that his secret would be safe. He may not be able to trust a word Garak said, but he felt he could trust Garak to keep a secret. Yet his mind went back to the implications of having a relationship with the Cardassian. What would his colleagues say? And even though his relationship with them was strained at best, he could only imagine what his _parents_ would say. 

So how to proceed? At first he thought that he would just refrain from inviting Garak over in the evenings anymore. It was too much temptation— lounging on pillows, watching the seductive way the Cardassian's lips sucked on the hookah, the graceful movement of his muscles gliding sinuously beneath his clothes. He didn’t trust himself not to encourage the Cardassian’s flirtatious ways. It would be so easy to give in to his body’s desires. He was certain that Garak would hardly object. Even though Cardassians traditionally flirted through barbed exchanges and insults, he knew that Garak had been on enough other worlds to understand how to show interest in members of a different species according to their own tastes. Certainly his lingering touches and innuendo-laced words had worked on a certain CMO. Bashir felt fairly certain that any advances he made would be encouraged and reciprocated… and at this stage how could he manage another decadent evening without showing exactly how he felt. No. Hookah-nights were definitely out of the question.

The more the doctor thought about it, though, he realized their lunches would be just as difficult. To be so close to the tailor— his voice, his scent, his eyes— yet having to act as though nothing was different. Pretending that nothing had changed, even though he now knew that he was hopelessly smitten? The doctor knew that lunches would be just as difficult. 

What did that leave? Either he was going to have to go cold turkey and break all contact with his friend or…

…Or allow himself the opportunity to see if Garak would also be interested in pursuing a relationship— not just a tryst, an actual relationship— and to hell with what his parents and colleagues might think.

He didn’t feel any closer to a decision as he picked up his book again— it had been one of the actual paper books his aunt had sent him: a maqamah from the Middle Ages. He had often wondered why his aunt had sent these antiques to him; they were so different from the types of books that his parents encouraged him to read. It had been a small mystery to him for years. Then one time, when he had been on leave as a cadet, he had visited his aunt briefly without letting his parents know, and he felt that he understood her motives a little better. It had been autumn, his favorite season at the community— short but incredibly sweet— the weather temperate, the sun shining gold. It had felt so strange coming back after so many years. 

Due to rules of the community, he had been forced to take ground transportation to the perimeter of the Beledi settlement and then he had to walk the rest of the way to his aunt’s house. The day was hot, and he had worn the shirt she had made him (the uniform would have been unbearable in the dessert heat). He arrived at his aunt’s house just as the _Dhuhr_ , the middayazan, was ending.

“Jules, my treasure, I am so pleased to see you.”

When he hugged her, he had difficulty wrapping his mind around how much time had passed. The last time he had seen her, she had towered over him, his thin arms barely able the span the circumference of her body. Now, he could rest his chin on the top of her head.

“A healer of the sick. I am so proud of you,” she said a while later as they sat on the verandah and watched the sun set. He was full of dates and iced mint tea. “I always knew you were special, Jules.”

“It’s nice to think someone thought so.”He couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice.

She took his hand. “I may not agree with what your parents did, but I know they did it out of love.”

“Strange way of showing love,” he muttered. But he hadn’t come there to debate his parents’ motives or to rehash the same pain he had felt since age 15. “Aunt Fatima, why did you choose to live in the Beledi community? You were a Lieutenant Commander— a prominent scientist. Your research into interspecies sociology is still taught at the Academy. Why did you give it up and choose this life?” 

She closed her eyes. “I will tell you a story. You remember… like I would tell you stories when you were a little boy? You were always so eager to know things. So curious. I loved when you would visit me because everything you saw, no matter how many times you had seen it before, it was always as though it was the first time. Through your eyes I could see the world anew.”

“Many years ago, a woman awoke to cold artificial light. She had breakfast, but her food just tasted like rearranged atoms. She wore the uniform she wore every day— the colors muted and dull. She realized the only thing she liked about her work was meeting people that were on other worlds; people with traditions and struggles that she had never known. She read to take her mind off her unhappiness. Her favorite stories were those involving trickster gods and unscrupulous people. Beings that had broken free of what society expected. The more she read, the more she wanted to be like them. Not to break the law necessarily, but to experience life unfettered. She resigned her commission and traveled, but when her sister became pregnant, she found that she didn’t want to be away from her family anymore. She returned to Earth and instead traveled through different communities, finally settling in one that spoke to her soul.” 

Bashir looked at her from the corner of his eye. “And when her sister and nephew left?”

She smiled sadly. “She did what she could to keep them, and considered following them, but the place she lived had become a part of her. She couldn’t imagine living again without enjoying the bitter crunch of un-ripened dates and the feeling of the sun and wind on her face.” She turned to him and took his hand. “When you are in the hospital, what is the first thing you do? You wash up. You sterilize your body and you remove all excess thoughts from your head. In a way, you cease to be Julian Bashir because you must focus on your patient, and if you let your internal thoughts intervene, the patient could suffer. Another person’s life is in your hands, and you owe it to them to be the perfect doctor.”

“Then, when you are out of the hospital, you are a cadet. You serve Starfleet. One day you will be an officer, and your life will be dedicated to the Federation. It will tell you how to direct your life and your thoughts. And because the Federation stands for good and wholesome things, it will be easy to follow their instructions.”

“Doesn’t your faith do the same thing?” He asked, slightly rankled by the implication that his career path was part brainwashing, and eager to point out the hypocrisy of her words.

She smiled, eyes pleased as though he had just passed a test. “Yes. Good. I am glad to see you are thinking. You are right. A religious faith does the same thing— it provides its followers with a moral code and directs their thoughts. But where Starfleet makes you scrub up and sterilize, faith in a religion is not always so clean.”

“There is more in this universe than Starfleet would like to believe. There are unforeseen variables, and there are myriad greys between black and white.”

“I came here— I chose this life— because I realized that I wished to embrace the greys. Part of what makes us human, what gives spice to any sentient life form’s existence, is the dirt. The struggle isn’t the way to get to the goal— it is the goal.”

“I want you to think of this when you read the books I’ve given you. Sometimes there is value in being a scoundrel like Abu Habib. Sometimes, like Sheharazad, the only way to survive is to scheme. And sometimes love can be a blessing. And sometimes it can be a curse—you can be like Rumi the first time he lost Shams— and become a hollow shell. Or you can claim love even when you are lost in the desert— spinning until you feel the glory of god.”

“You can be an angel, a human, or a Jinni—and you can do good and benefit mankind no matter which path you choose. But believe me, Jules, the humans and the Jinni have more fun.”

When he had returned to the Academy, Bashir had not spent too much time thinking about their conversation. Being a Starfleet officer was his dream, and he couldn’t understand how his aunt could have decided to leave. But there, in his quarters so many years later, he thought about this conversation again, and felt like he understood a little better what his aunt was trying to say. 

* * * 

Garak sat at the counter of his shop, sipping some red leaf tea and beginning the sketches for Chalon’s dress, allowing his mind to wander as he conceived of what styles and colors would be most complimentary.

While seeing the end product of his hard work was always fulfilling, he most enjoyed the preliminary stages of design. It was liberating to grant free reign to his creative impulse.

Just as he had told Odo upon their return from the Gamma Quadrant, for all of the things he had ever been, he was a very good tailor. Even when he was young he had had an eye for aesthetics, (much to Tain’s distaste). But even the head of the Obsidian Order had been forced to begrudgingly admit that his skills had come in handy on many occasions. His artistic talent had given him easy cover on many of his covert assignments; whether it was tending gardens on Romulus, providing architectural inspiration on Setlik Prime, or designing attire for some of the most powerful people in the quadrant, his discerning eye had served him and Cardassia well.

As an added bonus, it had often helped with his cover. To many beings there was something inherently non-threatening about an “artistic” man, and luring others into a false sense of security was a valuable skill that he had cultivated. How could anyone suspect nefarious intent from a man who could expertly arrange Parthasian lilies? 

Aesthetics, as with so many parts of life, all came down to how things moved together; the give and take of the universe—each action leading inextricably to the next. But the trick was deciding if the best course to take was an economical path (the stark lines of a tuxedo / the execution of a single head of state) or to make things more elaborate (the ceremonial garb on C’ntelin Theta / the cumulative machinations of the Obsidian Order).

He was just comparing some cloth samples for Chalon’s dress, and looking forward to seeing Bashir for lunch, when the tailor looked up to see the doctor at the door of his shop. He noticed that the young man looked nervous as he passed by several times, his hands clasped behind his back. Suddenly, the doctor looked up, and for a second he froze, an almost guilty look on his face. Garak couldn’t help but notice that the young man was not looking well. His face was slightly ashen, in spite of his warm skin tone, and there were circles under his eyes. Finally, Bashir walked through the door.

“Doctor, how kind of you to visit my humble establishment. Can I help you with something?” Garak kept his voice calm, his expression gentle. 

“No. Well, yes.” Bashir ran a hand through his hair, adding to his look of dishevelment. “Garak, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be able to go to lunch today.”

Garak felt his heart sink— it was a disconcerting sensation. “Is everything alright?”

Bashir avoided his glance. “Yes. Of course. The infirmary is just very busy today and I think it would be best if I ate at my desk.”

It was obviously a lie, and Garak had little doubt that the doctor knew he wouldn’t be believed. “Of course, doctor. Work should always come first. In fact, I am behind on a few things here myself, so it would probably be better for both of us if we skipped today.”

“Thanks for understanding.” Bashir stood there uncomfortably for a second, seeming to be debating something internally. 

“Perhaps tomorrow would be a better day?” Garak suggested.

“I don’t know. I don’t think tomorrow is going to work either.”

It was at that moment that Garak felt a sharp pain. So this was how it was going to end. A missed lunch. A non-committal promise of “next time.” Then nothing. An awkward hello when they passed on the Promenade, or a nod of the head if they happened to see each other at the replimat. He didn’t like the feeling roiling in his core— it felt too much like heartbreak. He turned his attention back to the fabric samples, attempting to keep his face from showing any emotion.

“Of course, Dr. Bashir. I…”

“… So why don’t we have dinner tomorrow night instead? I’ve wanted to try the Celestial Café for a while.” Bashir paused until Garak looked up at him. There was an almost fevered light in the doctor’s eyes. “And you should wear that silver suit. It, um, it looks really nice on you.”

Uncharacteristically, Garak felt speechless at the sudden turn of events. One moment he had been convinced that he had done something to lose the person closest to him; the next he was suddenly redeemed.“Certainly, doctor.” He finally managed.

“Good. Meet you there at 20 hundred?” Bashir put a datastick on the tailor’s counter. “Oh, and here. You might find it interesting.”

After the doctor had left, the Cardassian was somewhat at a loss, and it wasn’t a feeling he was used to. He prided himself on usually being at least 2-3 steps ahead of any given situation, but he had to admit that the doctor had repeatedly managed to surprise him, and this was certainly one of those instances. 

When the doctor had seemed to be implying they wouldn’t be associating anymore he had quickly run through their conversations, looking for a cause. But then suddenly the young man had changed the stakes. Garak felt off center and more than a little disturbed at the way the thought of not associating with the doctor had felt almost like a physical blow.

_That is why you should never get attached, Elim._ he thought. But he felt… what was the word that had appeared in the Arabian Nights? Bewitched… that was it. While he had looked up the meaning when he initially encountered it in the text, he realized that it was only now that he understood what it meant. He thought of Bashir, with “eyes sharper than unsheathed swords and the lashes of eyelids bewitching all hearts…” 

Garak groaned. If the doctorwas attempting to turn the tables on their little game, it felt like it was turning into a very dangerous game indeed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd so all mistakes are my own - apologies extended.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first "date"

Bashir fidgeted a little in his suit. It was only about 1935, but he hadn’t been able to sit in his quarters any longer. Instead, he was wandering the station’s corridors on a meandering path to the restaurant, working himself up into what his mother would have called a tizzy. 

He had still been unsure on what he was going to do when he walked into the tailor’s shop the day before. He had just about decided that he was going to end it, but once he saw the Cardassian, he knew he couldn’t stop seeing him. He was in too deep.

Now, here he was, going to dinner with a man he had shared bread with more times than he could count, but this time, because his mind had labeled it a “date,” his stomach was flipping somersaults, his heart was racing, and his palms were slick with sweat. 

He couldn’t help but be nervous— he was never 100% smooth with the ladies, but he had a comfortable patter down. He knew the way the game was played with women— he would offer a compliment, tell the Starfleet medical exam story, and let his looks do most of the work for him. This was different, though. With many of his conquests, (or failed conquests in the case of Jadzia), he had felt the instantaneous rush of infatuation and had proceeded accordingly. But in this situation he had been blindsided. He hadn’t expected to develop these feelings for his friend— and where the full flush of his infatuations usually cooled just as quickly as they were realized, he feared that, if he pursued this new endeavor, he would be quite out of his depth. He thought it entirely likely that he would be in it for the long haul.

But once he had invited the Cardassian to dinner, he felt almost like a weight had been lifted from him. Since the nervous exchange in Garak’s shop the day before, he had put considerable thought into how he would go about interacting with the tailor— hopefully without making a total twit of himself. While he was fairly certain that the Cardassian was interested (he had, after all, been attentive and flirtatious since the very beginning of their association), he could imagine why his friend had always been elusive. Until recently, the doctor had not been fully aware of his feelings, and could only imagine how Garak viewed him; always chasing the most eligible bachelorette, making a fool of himself on numerous occasions, and just generally acting like a hormone addled teenager. 

So, he decided that “reserved seduction” was the way to go. Now it was just a matter of figuring out how to execute “reserved seduction.”

Without consciously planning it, he found himself at Quark’s.

“What’ll it be doctor?” The Ferengi asked as Bashir sat down. 

“Surprise me. Anything but synthahol.”

The Ferengi smiled. “I think I know just the thing.” He rummaged underneath the bar for a while and brought out a dusty bottle. “This is about as far from synthahol as you can get.” He poured the doctor a shot and scooted it towards Bashir. “Big date tonight?”

Bashir blinked. “What? No. Well, maybe. Just going to dinner.” He knocked the drink back. 

“With anyone special?” 

The question took Bashir off guard, but he found himself smiling. “Yes, I think so.” 

“Oi, Julian!” Bashir turned around in his seat and saw Chief O’Brien walking towards him. “Haven’t seen you here in a while!”

Bashir wasn’t in the right mental space for his erstwhile friend. “Hi Miles,”

“Keiko is going to be running some tests tonight on Melvonian fungus. Want to go up to the holosuites and teach those Jerries a lesson with me?”

“Actually, I can’t tonight. I already have plans.”

O’Brien elbowed Bashir and winked. “Ah, and who’s the lucky girl?”

Bashir tried to play it cool. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“That’s never stopped you before.” O’Brien laughed.

Bashir looked at his chronometer in an exaggerated manner. “Oh, gee, I’d better be going.”

“Sure thing. At least you’ll probably get a better night’s sleep tonight, eh?”

Bashir could feel himself blushing as O’Brien left him, chuckling.

Quark refilled his glass. “Looks like you could use another.”

“Thanks.” He shot the drink down, and felt the alcohol buzzing under his skin. _Well, Julian, here goes nothing…_ he thought as he made his way to the Celestial Café.

* * *

Chalon smiled when Garak walked through the door. “Garak, you’re looking very nice tonight,” 

“As are you, my dear. That is a beautiful scarf.”

She touched the scarf around her neck, a wistful look on her face. “It was the last one the trader gave to me before...”

He nodded and touched her arm sympathetically. “Well, it looks lovely on you.”

She noticed the small gift wrapped package in his hand. “And what is this?” 

Garak shifted his eyes, “Oh, well, that is actually for Dr. Bashir. He’ll be joining me for dinner tonight.”

Chalon beamed. “Oh Garak, that’s wonderful! Did you talk to him then?”

“Well, no actually…” he stopped speaking as he saw Bashir walk through the door. For once the doctor had chosen a decent outfit for himself: a light linen suit with a bright white collarless shirt—and it looked gorgeous on him. Garak tried valiantly to push his lustful thoughts away, with minimal success. 

“Good evening, Garak.”

“Good evening, doctor.”

They stood awkwardly for a moment. 

“Why don’t we sit?” Garak looked at the Bajoran restaurateur. “Chalon, my dear, would you be so kind?”

The tailor noticed that she was trying to keep the ‘aw, how cute’ look off of her face. “Right this way.” She led them to a secluded table in the back. Shortly she came back with two glasses of Springwine, winking at Garak as she left.

“That is a very nice suit, doctor. Perhaps I was wrong all these years and you actually _do_ know how to dress yourself.” 

Bashir playfully glared at the Cardassian.“Well thank you Mr. Garak. I’m glad it meets your approval.” It was familiar territory, and it broke the tension between the two of them. “So you’ve been here before?”

“A few times, Chalon is a very fine chef, and a most charming hostess.”

“Oh, before I forget, I wanted to give you this.” Bashir handed over a datastick. “In keeping with my recent trips down memory lane, I thought I would give you some of the poetry my aunt used to read to me when I was a child.”

“Oh dear, it’s not any more of that ‘beat’ poetry you subjected me to last month, is it? I’m still trying to forget that awful, self-absorbed...”

Bashir rolled his eyes and interrupted “Alright, alright. I knew you wouldn’t like it even before I gave it to you, but…”

“Then why on Prime did you give it to me?”

“For the same reason you subjected me to “My Father, My State.””

Garak chuckled. “Touché.” 

“This is a poet named Rumi, and it is about as far from beat poetry as you can get.”

“Alright, but I am holding you to that.” He took the datastick and tucked it into his breast pocket. “Oh, and of course this is for you.” He scooted the package across the table. 

“Thank you.” Bashir took the package, “I wonder what it could be?” he said as he turned it over in his hands. 

“As I see it, there is only one way to find out.” Garak smiled sweetly at him.

“You won’t even give me a hint?”

Garak felt his eye ridges raise. The twinkle in Bashir’s eyes was so alluring. Unlike the nervousness from the previous day, his friend seemed much more at ease. In fact, there was a languidness about his movements and speech that the Cardassian found positively mesmerizing. 

“Surely, doctor, after all the time we’ve known each other, you know me better than to think I would make something easy on you.”

“Of course you’re right. You only ever make things hard for me.” 

Garak felt his breath hitch at the innuendo. _What on Prime is going on? _he thought. He went back to trying to analyze the doctor’s strategy. If the replimat was Garak’s territory and Bashir’s quarters were his, then surely this was neutral ground… his thoughts scrambled trying to come up with a responding strategy to the game.__

Bashir undid the ribbon around the package, and then carefully ran his thumb under the seams of the wrapping paper. 

“Garak, where did you get these?”

“Oh, you know how it is. In my line of work I meet all manner of traders. Imagine my surprise when a cloth merchant from the Arctelian nebula happened to mention he had a small quantity of dates for sale directly from Earth. I thought it was quite a coincidence seeing as you were just talking about dates not too long ago.” A lie, of course. It had taken quite a bit of latinum and menacing before Quark had agreed to look for them. (“What on Ferenginar do you want with wrinkly hu-mon fruit?” had been the Ferengi’s exact words…)

“I didn’t think Cardassians believed in coincidences.”

“Well, to paraphrase that dreadful playwright you like so much— I suppose there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in this humble tailor’s philosophy.”

Bashir reached out and laid his hand on the Cardassian’s. “Thank you.” The doctor’s beatific smile lit a warm glow in Garak’s chest, and for the first time in a long while, the tailor realized that his own smile was sincere— not just the usual smile of playful enjoyment he customarily had when he was in the doctor’s presence, but one of a deeper contentment.

“Of course, doctor.” 

Bashir removed his hand, with exaggerated reluctance. “I know I didn’t give you much opportunity, but have you had a chance to look at my last literary contribution?”

“Indeed I have. I gather it is another example of the writings of your ancestral lineage?” 

“It is. It is called a maqamah.”

“Hm. And what do you think of such tales?” Garak’s interest was piqued. Not just by the subject matter, but also by the doctor’s elusiveness. Usually the young man was only too eager to offer information, practically exploding with his literary theories and opinions. Now, it seemed, he had a sudden need for vagaries. 

Bashir smiled enigmatically. “I was more interested in what _you_ thought of them.”

“Well, I find it interesting that both this maqamah and the Arabian Nights highlight the role of the storyteller… and the power of a well-spoken fabrication.”

“You mean lies,” Bashir said, his voice low and seductive.

“I do. And beautifully crafted ones at that.”

Bashir propped his chin on his hand. “You like their aesthetic, then?”

“Yes.” He took a drink of his Springwine— a challenge of sorts. “Surely, doctor, you don’t expect me to give a full analysis when you haven’t even begun yours.” If the doctor wanted to play games with him, he would make him work for it.

Bashir grinned. “I can’t get anything more from you than that?”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” he cast his glance over at Chalon who was watching gleefully. She walked hurriedly over. “…but it appears now we should order our food.”

They ordered, and then spent a few moments sipping their wine. Their gazes locked as they strategized their next moves. Finally, Bashir rolled his eyes.

“Very well. You always have to win, don’t you?” 

“It is my preference.” Garak admitted.

Bashir settled his elbows on the table, leaning forward conspiratorially. “When I was young and first introduced to these stories, I had very little comprehension of what they were saying. I didn’t get what was going on most of the time. But I remember I very much liked Abu Habib. I loved each time he managed to trick people. It gave me a perverse sense of pleasure.”

Garak raised his eye ridges. “Really? I would think that you would have been most displeased at his deceptions and his wanton behavior. But surely now that you are grown, you realize what a bad person he was. How antithetical his so-called “values” were to those of, say, Islam?” _Or Starfleet_ he didn’t say.

“You would think so, wouldn’t you? Yet oddly enough I find him to be an even more interesting character now. There is an honesty about his dishonesty. Its…alluring.”

Garak’s eyes darkened. “Alluring… What an interesting choice in words.”

“It’s the one that fits best.”

“It seems that the “maidens” in the tales would agree with you. Of course, they were only interested in him for what he could give them… material wealth… when he had it, that is.”

“True. But the narrator also found him compelling.” 

“Yes, but only from an intellectual standpoint; as though Abu Habib was a specimen of sorts. Or perhaps it is that he just felt pity for Habib. He did seem quite worried about the older man’s “salvation.””

Garak was startled at the intent look in Bashir’s eyes. “That just shows the narrator cared about Abu Habib.”

“Then it demonstrates the dangers of caring. His association with Habib got him into trouble on several occasions.”

Bashir didn’t back down. “Yes, it did. And yet he continued to fall into Habib’s traps.”

“The narrator was naïve.”

“Somewhat, but the narrator was also entranced.”

Garak broke eye contact, suddenly unnerved by the doctor’s frankness. “One wonders what the moral of these stories is… if there is one. Allowing a devious old charlatan to entrance such an innocent young man. It seems antithetical to all that you humans hold dear.”

“I guess it’s just a sign that, as a species, we are more complex than we like to appear.”

“A fact that I am constantly reminded of.” He sipped some more wine, attempting to regain his composure. “I was very intrigued by the similarities between this maqamah and many Cardassian tales. There was more going on below the surface of the narrative than in, say, the Arabian Nights. Or, for instance, in the maqamah about the two princes, how the allegedly pious prince lied to his father about his vision, yet in truth was telling of how he had actually murdered his brother. Such duplicity is worthy of the very best enigma tales, and I found myself wondering quite a lot about the region your ancestors haled from.”

“It was an interesting place— full of conflicting ideas and ideals.”

“Yes, I can see that in their writing.” He glanced at the doctor. “And their descendants.”

Bashir smiled. “Perhaps one day I could convince you to join me on a trip to the Beledi community.”

Garak’s mind was spinning. “Perhaps you could.”

* * *

“Can I bring you anything else?” Chalon asked as they finished their meal. 

“Chalon makes an exceptional Tuwaly pie,” Garak suggested.

Bashir smiled up at Chalon. “Thank you, but perhaps some other time.” He shifted his eyes to Garak. “I rather have my heart set on something else for dessert.” After a pause, he held up Garak’s gift. “It has been a long time since I’ve had a non-replicated date.” 

“Well, then, I hope you both have a very nice evening. See you tomorrow for breakfast, Garak?” 

“Of course.” Bashir watched their exchange and wondered at what seemed to be a certain subtext to their words.

As they walked to the door, Bashir felt his heart fluttering. While he felt that the evening had gone very well, now was the moment of truth. 

Garak turned towards him. “Well, doctor, as always I have enjoyed our time together.”

Bashir smiled invitingly. “I have, too.” 

“”Well, I wish you a very good night.” Bashir watched as his friend turned to go, but Bashir reached out and laid a hand on his elbow. 

“Wait. There’s no need for you to get back to your quarters just yet, is there?” The sultry note in his voice surprised even his own ears. 

Bashir saw Garak look down at the hand on his arm, his eye ridges slightly arched and a sly smile on his face. “I suppose not.” 

“Then why don’t you come to my quarters so we can continue our conversation?” Bashir leaned closer. “After all, wouldn’t you like to try one of my dates?”

The doctor could swear he saw the Cardassian’s mind working, trying to figure out what was going on, like moving chess pieces on a board. “Well, I am rather curious if they are at all similar to Cardassian seth’tels.”

“Let’s find out then, shall we?”

Bashir felt nervous as he linked their arms. He was convinced that the Cardassian would be able to feel the racing of his heart through the contact, but did his best to maintain his cool. _Calm down, Julian,_ he told himself, _Just see where it goes._

He saw Garak fix him with an appraising eye. “Sometimes I think that you _are_ actually learning a thing or two from our time together.”

Bashir glanced sideways at his companion. “You think so? Hm. Well, perhaps I am learning many things.”

Once they got to Bashir’s quarters, he felt the need for some liquid reinforcement. “Would you like anything to drink, Garak?”

The tailor smiled at him. “That would be delightful.”

“Any requests?”

“Since we are reveling in your heritage, how about something from that part of Earth.”

“Well, Islam prohibited the consumption of alcohol, so the choices are somewhat limited.”

“But not non-existent?”

“Not entirely. But to be honest, I don’t think you’ll like it. The only liquor I think might be in the replicator isn’t at all like kanar.”

“Well, I am fairly flexible.”

The Cardassian’s words and the dusky look in his eyes made the doctor’s heart pound. He swallowed dryly. “I’ll keep that in mind…” he turned to the replicator. “Computer; two ibriq glasses. Mixture: 1/3 arak, 2/3 water.” Once he put the glasses down he took off his jacket, draping it over the arm of his couch. He was pleased at the way the Cardassian’s eyes scanned his physique. Bashir gestured towards the collar of the silver jacket. “May I?” He allowed his fingers to brush the Cardassian’s neck ridges as he divested his friend of his suit coat. He noticed with delight how Garak’s skin flushed a light purple at the contact.

“Why, how considerate of you, doctor.” Bashir was pleased at the slightly breathy quality to the tailor’s voice. 

Bashir offered Garak a glass, raising his own in a semi-toast. “To Abu Habib.”

“To a delightful and enchanting young protagonists,” The Cardassian said, touching his glass to the doctor’s.

“So?” Bashir looked at him mischievously after the first sip.

Garak made a face. “You’re right. It is nothing like kanar. I would even go so far as to say it is the anti-kanar.”

Bashir laughed. He had never been a fan of arak, anyway, and wasn’t offended. “How about something else?”

Bashir took out the bottles of kanar and port he had bought from Quark in anticipation of their return to his quarters. “Before we drink any more, though…” he opened the box of dates and delicately pulled one out, biting it in half and pulling the moist flesh off of the seed. He tilted his head back with a delighted sigh. “Oh, I have missed that.” Bashir looked at his friend sincerely. “Thank you, Garak. This is the nicest gift I’ve gotten in a long time.” He pulled out another date, and scooted closer to the tailor. “Here.” He held the date close to Garak’s lips. “Tell me what you think.”

Bashir felt his heart racing in his chest as he waited to see if Garak would eat the date from his fingers. After a moment of hesitation, Garak lifted his hand to take the date. Bashir tried not to look disappointed. “Thank you, doctor.”

Bashir watched as Garak took a dainty nibble at the date, and was relieved when he saw the Cardassian smile. “They are very much like Cardassian seth’tels. Though they are quite a bit stickier.” He looked at his fingers, pulling them apart several times, then looked back at the doctor and proceeded to lick each fingertip carefully. Bashir couldn’t help but gasp. He turned quickly to the bottles on the table and filled their glasses — his mind spinning.

 _Well, this was the plan, wasn’t it, Julian? Tonight was the night._ He looked up to see Garak smiling at him, fairly bursting with smug self-satisfaction, and it dawned on the doctor. _He thinks this is just a game! Well, I’ll show him who is playing to win._

Settling deeper into the couch Bashir yawned. “Pardon me. I don’t think I realized how much this week took out of me.” 

“Well, doctor, you can simply tell me to go home. I would hate to keep you up.” Garak said lightly.

“No. I didn’t mean that. I’d like it if you stayed.”

“Well, I do need to finish up some work on a Betazoid wedding dress…”

Bashir smiled and looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Betazoids get married in the nude.” 

Garak smiled. “Well, then perhaps it won’t be quite as much work as I feared.”

“It will leave you more time to read poetry.”

Garak sipped his drink. “Ah, yes. Why don’t you tell me a bit about this Rumi…” 

“Well, as you know, Earth wasn’t always as it was today.”

Garak rolled his eyes slightly. “Of course not. You humans were quiet barbarous, in fact. I would go so far as to say that parts of your history surpass Cardassia’s in terms of brutality.”

“Well, I don’t know that I would go that far, but yes, Earth’s history was violent. But as with any civilization, there was art that transcended the ethnic, national, and chronological borders because of its simplicity and beauty. Rumi’s poetry was like that. He was a part of a peaceful sect in a time when religious and territorial wars raged. And his poetry spoke to love and acceptance.”

Garak sighed. “Ah, so it is sentimental.”

Bashir finished off his glass of port. “Perhaps, but it is still beautiful.”

Bashir felt as though he were standing on a precipice. One false move and… 

He leaned his head back and undid the top button of his shirt, feeling Garak’s blue gaze rest on him. He undid the second and felt as though he was no longer quite in his body. He toed out of his shoes. 

_Here goes nothing…_ he thought, and turned, lying down with his head in Garak’s lap. He smiled inwardly at the sharp intake of the Cardassian’s breath. Their eyes connected and Bashir felt his heart stop.

After a moment, Bashir heard his friend speaking quietly. “Well, with the exception of your beat poetry, I have always found value in studying Earth’s literature with you. I suppose I shall just have to reserve my judgment of Rumi until I have read some of his work.” The doctor felt a trembling hand touch his hair, tentatively, as though Garak seemed to think that if he touched the young man he might disappear. “I will admit that since meeting you, my dear doctor, my views on sentimentality have altered slightly.”

Bashir smiled up at him, “Sometimes getting accustomed to new things can be enjoyable.” The doctor traced a hand down the front of Garak’s shirt. “Have I told you how much I like that silver suit on you? It brings out your eyes.”

Bashir watched Garak’s expression. There was no doubt in the doctor’s mind that he had his friend’s full attention.

Garak cleared his throat. “Tell me more about Rumi, doctor.”

“Well. He was highly educated. His father was a scholar, and Rumi followed in his footsteps. As one legend goes, he was traveling with a stack of books one day when a shabbily dressed man came up to him and asked what he was carrying. Rumi turned to him and dismissively told him that the he wouldn’t understand. Without exhibiting any sign of anger, the man knocked the books from Rumi’s hands and they landed in a puddle of water. Rumi was horrified— books were rare and very valuable at that time— and he was sure that they were ruined. But, when he went to gather them up, the books weren’t wet in the slightest. Rumi was amazed. He asked the man: “How is this possible?” The man responded. “You wouldn’t understand.””

“The man was named Shams and he was a Sufi mystic. He and Rumi became… close friends.” Bashir gazed at Garak. “In fact, many of Rumi’s poems are devoted to him.” The doctor closed his eyes and smiled.

_A moment of happiness,_  
 _you and I sitting on the verandah,_  
 _apparently two, but one in soul, you and I._  
 _We feel the flowing water of life here,_  
 _you and I, with the garden's beauty_  
 _and the birds singing._  
 _The stars will be watching us,_  
 _and we will show them_  
 _what it is to be a thin crescent moon._  
 _You and I unselfed, will be together,_  
 _indifferent to idle speculation, you and I._  
 _The parrots of heaven will be cracking sugar_  
 _as we laugh together, you and I._  
 _In one form upon this earth,_  
 _and in another form in a timeless sweet land._

As Bashir finished his recitation, he lifted his hand without opening his eyes, tracing the scales on Garak’s left neck ridge with delicate motions. “They’re much softer than I imagined.”

Garak shifted, and Bashir could swear that he could hear the Cardassian’s heart thundering in his chest.

“Doctor, I think it is time I was going.” Garak lifted Bashir’s head gently and pulled him into a sitting position. “It is obvious that you are very tired. You should definitely be going to bed.” The young man touched the tailor’s thigh, stilling his movements.

“You could come with me.”

The doctor could almost see the chess pieces moving in his friend’s mind, then suddenly they were swept from the board. Realization dawned; one game ended, another began. Garak’s eyes dilated. “Don’t tempt me, doctor.” 

“Why not? Tempting you has been my only goal tonight.” He placed his hand back on the Cardassian’s neck ridges. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t want this.”

Bashir watched as emotions flashed across his friend’s usually placid face. Garak reached up and took the doctor’s hand, pulling it to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on the inside of his wrist. “Yes. I do. But, as sad as it makes me to say it, I don’t think this is a game we should be playing anymore.”

Bashir swallowed and looked into his friend’s beautiful blue eyes. “What if I told you that I wasn’t playing?” 

“Then it is even more reason to stop. I’ve already lost too much. I can’t risk losing you, too.” His words held so much sorrow, and it stabbed at the doctor’s heart.

“You won’t lose anything. I promise. Do you really have no idea how I feel about you… Elim?” Bashir looked to his friend to see how the use of his given name had affected him. Garak’s eyes grew wide. “I’m quite fond of you. In fact, I think I could be… more than fond of you.” He pulled Garak towards him, placing a gentle kiss on the Cardassian’s lips. 

Garak withdrew. “You couldn’t possibly understand the implications.”

“Maybe not. But I know what I want.” Bashir took Garak’s hand. “I don’t want to play this game anymore, either.” The doctor’s heart was full, and he felt words couldn’t fully express his emotions “ Stay with me tonight, Elim.”p>

The Cardassian closed his eyes and his body trembled slightly. Bashir felt as though he were watching a great wall begin to crumble— chinks of mortar shifting and coming loose... 

“Garak? Are you alright?” Bashir’s voice felt thin and reedy in his throat.

When the Cardassian opened his eyes, the intensity made the doctor feel very exposed. “Doctor, had you offered four years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But it is not that simple anymore. I am not some Dabo girl; some distraction willing to disappear when your next infatuation comes along. I don’t want only a part of you; I don’t want just your body. I want everything. If you aren’t comfortable with that, I understand— but those are my terms.” Bashir saw how hard Garak was trying to speak lightly, to assume his mask and pretend it wasn’t of any great import, but his trembling continued. “Stop now and we can go on as if nothing has changed. We can continue to have lunch, and discuss literature and art, and tell each other lovely, fascinating lies.” 

For a second, Bashir felt himself waver. Could he do this? Could he give everything to his friend? He, who had always been aloof, not by choice, but by necessity. He looked into Garak’s eyes again, and even though he knew his friend was trying his hardest to cloak his emotions, he saw such longing and fear and… something else. He had known for years that he truly cared about Garak. He had been willing to risk his life, his career, and had never allowed himself to ask himself why. He never, until that moment, realized that he was actually in love. He ran his thumb over an eye ridge.

“Everything that I am is yours.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth, than Garak brought their bodies together with startling force, pulling the young man into his lap and crushing his lips against the doctor’s. So taken aback, it was a moment befor Bashir responded, but when his mind caught up, he realized it felt like he was being swept up in flames. He wrapped his arms around the Cardassian’s neck, running his hands over his neck ridges and entangling his fingers in raven black hair. He could feel Garak’s hands pressing deeply into his flesh, one hand un-tucking his shirt and snaking up under the fabric, igniting a trail of heat as it ran over the tight musculature of his stomach and chest. Bashir couldn’t help himself as he groaned into the Cardassian’s mouth, his body seeking more contact. He needed to be closer, aching to feel Garak’s flesh against his. Fumbling with the tailor’s shirt, he finally managed to undo the buttons, and ran his hands over the thick ridges and scales. It was amazing. The seeming contradiction of textures— rough and soft at once, and obviously very sensitive by the way Garak reacted. His body arched into the doctor’s touch. Bashir pushed the shirt off of the tailor’s shoulders, broke the kiss, and appraised the solid frame of the Cardassian’s body. So different from past lovers— no soft feminine curves, just deliciously muscled angles covered in intricate patterns.

“Julian?” Bashir could hear uncertainty in Garak’s ragged voice, but his heart surged at the sound of his name on his friend’s lips. 

“I just wanted to see how close to accurate my dreams were.” 

Garak quirked an eye ridge. “And?”

“My dreams didn’t do you justice. You’re magnificent.”

Garak looked skeptical, but smiled. “It’s only fair, then, that you offer me the same opportunity.” The tailor’s deftly unbuttoned the doctor’s shirt, gently running his hands over the young man’s bared skin. He ran his fingertips over the hollow at the base of the doctor’s throat, along the prominent clavicles, dancing over his ribs— taking his time as though he were memorizing each contour. Each touch was electrifying, and finally Bashir couldn’t stand the suspense anymore and groaned in frustration. 

“Elim,” he said, pleadingly.

The Cardassian laughed. “I’ve imagined this for a long time, Julian. You can hardly begrudge me a few extra moments.”

“Yes I can.” Bashir wriggled until he was straddling his friend’s lap. Pulling the Cardassian’s hand down to the front of his pants, he allowed himself a small thrust of his hips. He enjoyed the look of desire in Garak’s eyes, but the Cardassian removed his hand.

“So impatient.” Garak shook his head in mock-concern, resuming his usually playful manner. “As I have said before, it is a mystery to me why you humans always want to rush through pleasurable activities. Definitely worth an extensive scientific study...”

“And right now it is a mystery to my why a certain Cardassian always has to talk when his mouth could be put to much better use,” he said, quickly taking possession of Garak’s lips again in a possessive kiss, pressing his body flush against the tailor’s. He rolled his hips and felt a shock of pleasure as the length of his sex brushed against his friend’s. He felt Garak’s body tremble at the connection.

“Well, perhaps you’re right,” Garak mumbled against Bashir’s lips, trailing light kisses along his jaw, and then sucking at his earlobe. In a swift movement, he had Bashir off his lap and with the same strength that had surprised Bashir in the past, he scooped the doctor up into his arms. “Perhaps in this instance my mouth could serve you better than simply offering witty repartee.” 

Bashir shivered in his strong arms as images from his dreams flashed through his mind. The doctor nuzzled into his neck, running his tongue along the textured skin and delighting in the feeling of the Cardassian’s quickened pulse against his lips.

Garak placed him on the edge of the bed, and then crouched at his feet. “Last chance to back out, doctor,” Garak whispered, his voice cracking just a little. Bashir marveled at his vulnerability, but wanted nothing more than to reassure him. 

”Never,” he said, leaning forward to kiss him. Bashir ran his hand down the lines of his neck ridges, across the broad expanse of his chest, delighting in the moans his lover gave in to as he traced the edges of his scales.

“You like that?” Bashir’s voice was breathy and teasing in his ear.

In reply, he was pushed none-too-delicately back onto the bed. The Cardassian’s look was hungry, and it was an incredible turn-on to the doctor. With a deftness which spoke to his current trade, Garak’s fingers worked at the fastening of his pants, quickly divesting him of his remaining clothes and exposing his heated body to the Cardassian’s admiring gaze. Bashir couldn’t help the needy whimper that escaped him. Garak’s desire was just as obvious as his own; his silver dress pants straining. Bashir moved to get up with the intent of undressing him, but the tailor pushed him back down. 

“No.” Descending onto the doctor, he pressed his mouth against the soft lips, grazing his teeth down the front of the young man’s neck and running his fingers through the dusting of silken hair that adorned the human’s chest and stomach. The sensations were intense, and Bashir couldn’t resist the urge to touch himself, but the Cardassian pushed his hand away, tracing light fingertips over the taut flesh.

“Oh, god,” Bashir gasped, pushing his hips further into Garak’s grasp.

The doctor could hear Garak purr at the sight of his wanton display. He opened his eyes and watched as the Cardassian ran a fingertip across the tip, gathering pre-come, and fixing his gaze to Bashir’s as he brought it to his lips, licking it clean.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he whispered, and Bashir let his head drop to the bed, his eyes clenched tightly.

Prowling lower, Garak worshipped the young man with his mouth; tonguing the accentuated collarbones, biting gently on the sweet flesh of his nipples, licking the doctor’s hips bones.

Bashir watched the Cardassian as he took a moment to admire the human’s sex as though he were committing every contour, every variation in skin tone, every texture, to his photographic memory. Garak licked his thumb and ran it from the base to the head and back again.

Bashir’s clenched the bedclothes in his hands. “You have _always_ been a tease,” the doctor said through his teeth.

“All for a good cause, my dear,” he murmured as he lowered his head. The doctor looked at him intently, his breathing shallow and his pupils dilated, watching as Garak licked the path his thumb had traveled, his tongue swirling around the tip, dipping delicately into the slit as though he was enjoying a fine dessert. Bashir groaned again.

“So impatient,” he whispered. The doctor’s sex stiffened as his breath caressed him. Garak’s lips traced along the underside of the doctor’s cock, moistening the flesh before finally sucking the tip into his mouth. Bashir’s eyes closed at the intoxicating realization that his fantasies were coming true. The Cardassian started his ministrations slowly, shallowly, but built the intensity steadily. The doctor tried to focus on his breath, not wanting the pleasure to end too quickly, but as he felt the constrictions of the tailor’s throat massaging him, he couldn’t help but thrust lightly.

“Oh, gods. Please. Oh, yes.” He ran trembling fingers through the dark black hair, losing control as they continued to move together. 

“Elim. Oh. God. I’m going to…”

The Cardassian carefully pressed his thumb at the base of the doctor’s sex to prolong the experience. Bashir looked down, locking his glance with Garak’s, and noting the self-satisfaction and lust in his blue eyes. The image of the Cardassian’s grey lips tight around his cock was incredibly erotic, and his head fell back to the bed. Garak hummed deeply and the vibration combined with the constrictions of his throat in time with the doctor’s movements made Bashir’s body start to shake. His moans turned coarse. The doctor felt the pressure of the Cardassian’s thumb lighten, and the apex of his release hit him, drowning him in warmth and sweat and unbelievable pleasure. 

Long moments passed for the doctor as the stars slowly faded from behind his eyelids. When he opened his eyes, he saw his lover sitting back on his heels smiling smugly. 

Bashir realized how goofy his post-orgasmic smile must have looked, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. “Well, you certainly look very pleased with yourself,” he said breathlessly.

Garak looked at him seriously. “Of course I am. And why shouldn’t I be? I think I have finally discovered your secret.”  
For a moment, Bashir panicked, but tried to play it off cool. “Oh? Enlighten me.”

“While I was enjoying your unparalleled delights, I found myself thinking about your _1001 Nights._ ”

Bashir laughed. “How come I’m not surprised to learn that you were thinking about literature while giving me the most amazing blowjob I’ve ever received?” He shook his head. “Alright, what about the _1001 Nights?_ ” 

“I have come to the conclusion that you aren’t actually human.”

“What do you mean?” Bashir asked suspiciously.

“I think you are, in fact, a Jinni masquerading as a human.” 

“Really? And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Just that it seems you have an unbelievable ability to grant even the most unlikely of wishes.”

“I could say the same about you.” Bashir reached for his lover and drew him down to lie next to him, curling next to the broad grey chest and running his hand down the edge of the tailor’s body and along the ridges of his chest and thighs. 

He felt happier than he could remember ever having been. “That was amazing, by the way.”

He watched a wry smile cross Garak’s face. “I hope it was acceptable. I fear I’m rather out of practice.”

Bashir swallowed. “Gods. If that’s how it is when you’re out of practice…” Bashir ran his hand lightly over his lover’s body, causing Garak to moan. Somewhat recovered, Bashir realized it was his turn. _Here goes nothing_ he thought. He traced fingers down the crease of his lover’s hip. “I. Um. I have to confess I don’t have much experience in this sort of thing.”

Garak looked at him mock-incredulously. “Do you mean to tell me your reputation around the station as the most highly sexed doctor in the quadrant has been exaggerated?”

He felt a flush spread over his cheeks and he glared. “What I mean is— I haven’t done much …”

“With other males?” Garak finished for him.

“Yes.” He felt foolish. Innocent and unprepared. 

“Well, what have you done?” The Cardassian asked. Bashir felt his lover’s hands moving over his body, easing the tension away with unmistakable skill. He closed his eyes and relaxed into Garak’s ministrations

“Just some touching… some stroking.”

“But perhaps you have thought of doing more?”

Gods had he ever. “Yes,” he said, his voice low. 

“Would you tell me about some of the things you have thought about?” 

“Well, I’ve dreamt about it. A lot. Especially lately.” Bashir swallowed nervously. Garak trailed kisses over the doctor’s cheeks and at the corners of his lips. “I’ve dreamt about you. About what you just did.”

The doctor felt the Cardassian’s breath caress his ear. “Hm. I’ve certainly dreamt about you, too, my dear.” Bashir felt his lover’s sex press against his leg. “Tell me, would you touch yourself after those dreams?”

“Yes,” he panted, arching into the Cardassian’s touch.

Garak made a satisfied sound in his ear, easing his slacks down over his hips. “Will you demonstrate for me?” He wrapped the doctor’s fingers around his length. Bashir was amazed at the feeling of Garak’s sex in his hand— similar in length, but thicker than his own— and etched with fine ridges and soft scales. He sat up a little to get a better glimpse. His hand around the grey shaft was very arousing. He gave a little squeeze, and felt his heart flip at the uncontrolled thrust of the Cardassian’s hips. Pleased, he began to work theshaft, mesmerized at each reaction and sound that his lover made. 

“That feels so good, Julian,” Garak whispered. “So you’ve fantasized about us before?

Ah. Of course. It made perfect sense that Garak would want to talk during intimate moments, he realized. As he thought about the dreams he had had, he found himself becoming hard again. “I’ve been having so many dreams this past week. Every night I’d wake up and I’d be so hard and there was no way I could go back to sleep without touching myself. I’d be on shift, and I would think about you, and suddenly I would be very uncomfortable in the middle of a meeting, or in the infirmary. I’d see you in the promenade and I kept getting images of me pushing you into a dark corner, and you’d touch me and before I knew it I’d be so excited I’d have to return to my quarters so as not to embarrass myself.”

Bashir continued to stroke him firmly, his thumb tracing the sensitive ridges and scales as glistening grey pearls appeared all along the length of his sex. Ever the curious doctor, he briefly marveled at the ingeniousness of Cardassian evolution. Looking down he saw Garak open his eyes, blue depths clouded with desire. “Tell me more.”

Settling down next to his lover, he breathed into his ear. “Most often, I’ve thought about you between my legs, sucking me like you just did. You’d be running your hands up the insides of my thighs and you’d take me all the way down your throat. I’d be so close, and I would imagine you putting your fingers inside me.” Even with his enhancements he had never become hard after an orgasm so quickly, his own words making him just as sensitized as they were obviously making Garak.

“Did you like that idea?” The Cardassian asked, his voice ragged.

“Very much.” The doctor moved his hips against his lover’s thigh, shivering at the contact. “It made my cock so hard. So much so that the next night I thought about how it would be if you were to…” his voice dropped even lower, a slight tremble. “…make love to me.”

Garak moaned, his movements becoming less controlled. “Would you want that?”

Nervous, Bashir looked at the cock he was stroking. It was larger than he had imagined in his fantasies, and to be honest he felt more than a little trepidation. As though sensing his thoughts, Garak pulled his chin toward him so that their eyes met.

”Julian, I’m never going to make you do something you don’t want to do. This is more than I ever thought I would actually have. If this is what you feel comfortable doing, it is still the most wonderful thing I could ever ask for.”

Bashir was surprised at the tenderness of the Cardassian. “It’s not that I wouldn’t. I mean… I’d like to… It’s just…”

Garak interrupted him. ”Shhh. We can talk about the logistics later.” In a swift movement, he had pulled the doctor on top of him. Bashir gasped as their erections connected, the Cardassian’s pre-come slick, easing the friction. The doctor felt ridges tease at his sensitive flesh and he found himself moving instinctually in time with his lover. 

He heard Garak’s voice in his ear. “One day, though, I’m going to do things to you that you can’t even begin to imagine, dear boy. What you have experienced until now will pale in comparison to the pleasures I will show you. You will scream, my pet, and you will hunger for more. I will show you what it means to be loved by a Cardassian.”

Bashir felt one of his lover’s hands snake between them and begin to stroke them both firmly. The feeling was amazing, and his head fell to Garak’s shoulder. He felt Garak’s body beneath him begin to shake, his breathing uneven and shallow. With his last shred of thought, he moved his head and bit down on the Cardassian’s neck ridge, tasting the tang of copper-laced blood. Garak cried out in ecstasy, his body jerking beneath him as he came. His pleasure drove Bashir over the edge as well, and he collapsed bonelessly into the embrace of his lover.

They lay silently for several minutes as their breathing returned to normal, Garak’s arms encircling Bashir’s slender frame— the doctor fitting perfectly against the tailor’s body. He could feel his lover’s lips moving lightly against his temple, breath stirring his hair.

“What are you saying?” he asked, thinking he had caught a few words in Kardasi, but not quite sure.

Garak smiled wryly, a look of mild embarrassment on his face. “Nothing important. Just thinking out loud.” He shifted a little, glancing down the length of their bodies. “We appear to be quite a mess.”

_I should have known that he wouldn’t answer me_ Bashir thought, but he just nodded. “Yes, we are.” He disentangled himself, standing a little shakily on his feet. “I feel like a newborn colt.”

The Cardassian laughed. “Strange, I was just thinking how I felt like an ancient regnar.”Slowly, he pushed himself up from the bed, stretching. “Enjoy your youth while you have it. While age is respectable, the process of aging is not always the most comfortable.”

Bashir watched as his lover stretched, the scales all along his body undulating like waves in the ocean. “I dread to think how I’d be feeling right now if you were much younger. I think you would have broken me in half.”

Garak snorted. “Well, you certainly are generous to my ego.”

“I’m serious.” He sat down next to the tailor, slipping his hand underneath the Cardassian’s and loving the way the grey fingers entwined with his. “Do you want to take a shower?” 

“That would be delightful, but I’ll let you go first.”

When Bashir got out of the shower, he found Garak looking out the window. He walked up behind the Cardassian, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the once-again-smoothed-back black hair. “Your turn.”

“Thank you,” Garak said, his voice somewhat distant.

Bashir felt concerned. “Are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

The doctor’s brow creased. “You aren’t regretting what happened, are you?”

The Cardassian turned to him, running his fingers through the young man’s still-wet locks. “No. Not at all.”

“But…?”Bashir prompted. 

“But… there are a few things we should talk about.”

Bashir knew he was right, but couldn’t help but pout a little bit. “Do we have to?”

Garak smiled. “I’m afraid so.” He looked at the doctor, his eyes softening. “But perhaps we don’t have to right now.” He kissed the young man lightly. “Right now, I think I will take you up on your very generous offer of a shower.”

As Garak showered, Bashir lay back on his bed. Yes, they would have to discuss some things, but he couldn’t wipe the pleased smile off of his face, or quell the happiness he felt in his chest. It had been so wonderful. Not just the physical release— though that had been exquisite— but for the first in many years, he didn’t feel alone. He knew that he would never be privy to all of Garak’s secrets— he knew that he probably didn’twant to know all of his secret— but he felt a contentment that warmed him wholly.

Smiling, he curled up on the bed, delighting in the scent of their shared intimacy, and before long he was asleep.

* * *

Garak leaned in the doorway, his eyes lingering on Bashir’s stretched out form as he slept. The tailor’s mind and heart were roiling with emotions that he hadn’t felt, or even considered, in years. He had learned the hard way to be careful in his liaisons— a member of the Obsidian Order was not allowed to feel too deeply for another. Ever since Garak had learned the truth about his parentage, Tain had alluded to the fact that he should have never allowed Mila to live once she became pregnant. That allowing him to even be born was a mistake that the head of the Order had bitterly regretted. His “mentor” had never neglected to instruct his pupil in the lesson that attachment was a weakness that would only lead an operative to a messy end.

 _But Elim, you haven’t been a member of the Order for years._ the sentimental part of his mind reminded him. _Do those lessons still apply?_

He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, running light fingertips over Bashir’s forehead and cheek. The young man smiled slightly, made an adorable little snuffly noise, ( _really, Elim, “adorable?”_ he caught himself thinking), and turned a bit into the caress. 

With the exception of Tain ( _and wasn’t he always the exception to the rules_ , Garak thought bitterly), members of the Obsidian Order didn’t retire; they didn’t resign. And they didn’t have families. They lived alone and worked until they died, (usually in a painful way), in glorious service to the state. He would have been happy with that life, but it had been denied to him. He had thought about it as a punishment without any real hope of redemption. Sure, he could provide information, try to buy his way back into the fold, but any last remnant of hope of return had died with Tain. But now… Now another type of hope was presented to him: a fragile, gentle, _human_ (he grimaced) hope. But, in spite of his better judgment, he couldn’t bear to quash the hope just yet.

It would require diligence and planning—but for the better part of his existence, he had been dedicated to just those two things. Perhaps this time it wouldn’t be a disaster. Perhaps he might actually be able to be with the person he cared for… and be… happy?

And that was it, he realized. The feeling he was experiencing was happiness. He closed his eyes and leaned against the wall. He wanted to memorize the feeling; allow it to permeate his every nerve and fiber. The doctor had agreed to his terms, and even though he knew it had been during the heat of passion, he couldn’t help but hope that the young man’s words were genuine: _> “Everything that I am is yours.” ___

”And all that I am is yours, Julian,” he whispered. Stroking the little area where the doctor’s chufa would have been were he a Cardassian.

He sat for a while, listening to the doctor’s breathing and enjoying the human’s body heat as the doctor nuzzled up next to him. Never in a million years would he have imagined he would be there in the young man’s bed, allowed to bask in the glow of his presence. His fear of loss still remained, but for the moment he allowed himself to luxuriate in contentment.

He wondered briefly at what human customs dictated in circumstances like these. Would Julian be displeased if he stayed the night? Would he be surprised to awaken next to the Cardassian? Perhaps it would be better if he left quietly while the young man slept. He mentally chastised himself for not having researched human mating customs a little before, but he had never hoped to believe that their evening together would end like this. 

On Cardassia, there were so very many rules that all depended on what kind of liaison had been agreed to beforehand; and even though Bashir had agreed to Garak’s terms, he realized there was no way that the human snuggled against him could possibly conceive of what he had actually been asking. He had been asking for _el-ran-geth_ , and was unsure how the human would respond if he knew what the implications of such a joining were.

Purely physical trysts, or _tren-geths_ were common enough on Cardassia— an expression of mutual sexual interest, sometimes accompanied by an agreement for certain favors; most often a diversion of the more affluent classes and the main recourse for intimacy to members of the Order. Garak was no stranger to these arrangements; when the stress from an assignment became too much, it was easy to bury oneself in a willing partner and submerge in a momentary escape. 

_Chen-geths_ , affairs with a small amount of emotional attachment, but nothing binding or exclusive, were usually engaged in between friends, often of the same sex. He had always avoided these types of entanglements; the danger of becoming attached was dangerous when friendship already existed. 

A _par-geth_ was engaged in when a marital enjoinment or a simple mating took place to improve political ties or secure positions of power or prestige. Glinns would suggest _par-geth_ to Guls they wished to align themselves with; or a father might pledge his daughter in a “High _par-geth _of enjoining” to solidify the ties between two families. Often, before any intimacy took place, a contract was drawn up explicitly stating the remuneration for the enjoining, and legal counsel was usually involved.__

Even amongst civilian Cardassians of modest means, most enjoinings were _par-geths_ and had little to do with love. People of similar standing who had a mutual attraction realized their union would be advantageous, and they would be joined. They would raise a strong family in service of the Union. Once a _par-geth_ was arranged and entered into, though, it was common enough for one or both partners to engage in side _tren-geth_ or _chen-geth _affairs— as long as these dalliances didn’t result in offspring, nothing was really thought about it.__

The _el-ran-geth_ , though, was something else entirely. While not strictly taboo, a true _el-ran-geth_ involved a deep emotional attachment between partners, and tended to be looked upon with a certain amount of suspicion. A Cardassian in true devotion to the empire would be expected to forsake a love-match if a proper enjoining could be entered into instead. Choosing a mate for love, rather than for the betterment of your family or political status, was considered by many to be a sign of weakness, and often looked upon as a betrayal of the state.

He supposed it was some fault deeply ingrained in his psyche that had caused him to always be more prone to these types of entanglements.

Garak looked down at the young man now curled up next to him and knew he didn’t want this to be just a one-off fling. And he certainly had nothing to offer the doctor in terms of power or prestige. He suspected that the doctor’s expectations for this rendezvous were more in line with a _chen-geth_ , in spite of his earlier words. He sighed, and then leaned down to place a feather-light kiss on his lover’s forehead.

Bashir stirred at his movements, looking at him blearily. “You’re sitting in my bed.”

Garak couldn’t help but chuckled at the drowsy observation. “Yes, I am.”

Bashir’s forehead creased. “Are you going to leave?”

The Cardassian swallowed, trying to keep all emotion from his voice and face. “I can if you want me to.”

He watched as the corner of the doctor’s lips turned down in a pout. “But I _don’t_ want you to.”

He felt joy fill his heart. “Then I’ll stay.”

He watched as the doctor’s eyelids drifted closed again, a smile on his face. He flung a possessive arm over the Cardassian’s knees. “Good.” 

Garak exhaled a slight chuckle. How on Prime was he going to deal with this? Lifting the doctor’s arm a bit, he situated himself on the narrow bed next to the young man, pulling the lithe body against his chest, and joined him in sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any typos!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after and love poety.

* * * 

**The time is now 0630** the doctor’s alarm broke through his dreams and he groaned. 

“Shut up, computer, I’m trying to sleep,” he mumbled, pulling his head out from under his covers. As he started to remember the previous night’s events, he looked around groggily. No sign of the Cardassian. He closed his eyes and couldn’t help a small, sad sigh from escaping his lips. Oh. So it was like that. Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Doctor… He supposed he shouldn’t really be surprised, considering what the man was like but…

“If you don’t get up soon, you’ll be late for your shift.” Bashir sat up in bed, startled at the voice. Garak stood in the doorway to his bedroom, a tray in his hand. “You’ve already asked the computer six times for “five more minutes.” I’m afraid too many more times and the computer might just give up entirely…” The Cardassian sat down on the bed and laid the tray next to him. The fishy-odor of the rokassa juice his friend was drinking permeated the air, yet at the moment the doctor thought it was maybe the best thing he’d ever smelled. He looked at the tray; a hot buttered scone and a cup of Tarkalean tea waited for him.

He looked into lovely blue eyes. “For me?”

“I figured you would be running behind enough as it was. And I felt that after the physical exertions of last night, it would be ill advised for you to skip breakfast.” 

Bashir felt warm at the thoughtful gesture. “Thank you,” he said, and he stroked a neck ridge.

Garak tilted his head into the touch, but fixed the doctor with a shrewd glance. “As much as I hate to encourage the habit, you had better eat quickly or you’ll be late.”

Bashir nodded and withdrew his hand. He nibbled at his scone, his mind waking up slowly. The relief he felt when he saw that Garak hadn’t left had been immense. “I’m glad you stayed,” he said with a nonchalance he didn’t entirely feel.

He saw Garak look at him from the corner of his eye. “I wasn’t sure you would want me to.” He sipped his juice.

Bashir continued to eat, thinking of what to say. There was so much that he wanted to tell him; how the decision to escalate their relationship hadn’t been easy, but that he was glad he had gone through with it; the fact that he was very much smitten with the tailor and the sweet gestures that morning had only reinforced these feelings; the very real possibility that his smitten-ness could turn into something more… “You said last night we should probably talk about a few things.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well?”

“Well.” Garak paused as he weighed his words. “Last night I told you I wanted more than just your body. Did you believe me?”

Bashir looked down at his scone. What was the Cardassian getting at? That he had said it in the heat of the moment? That he hadn’t meant it? “Yes, I believed you,” he said softly.

“Good, because it was the truth. I will not be satisfied to only share your bed on occasions when you have no other— better— offers.” The doctor felt gentle fingers adjust his chin to face his friend. “I haven’t always been truthful with you, Julian…” the Cardassian’s nervousness was palpable. “…but I want you to know that what happened last night was… very special to me.”

He looked into Garak’s eyes, trying to convey his sincerity. “It was special to me, too. I wish I’d realized it years ago, but… whatever… I can’t change the past.” He closed his eyes and exhaled. “What I’m saying is: There aren’t going to be any “better offers.” I like being with you.”

The doctor was touched by the look of relief on the Cardassian’s face. Garak put his mug down and took Bashir’s crumb-covered hand. “You know that I am not always viewed in the most favorable light on this station. There are people who would no doubt be suspicious of my intentions towards you… but their beliefs are of no concern to me. What matters is that you know that I won’t let any harm come to you. Ever.” 

“I believe you.” He smiled. “Though why I should believe anything you say after all these years is really quite beyond me.”

Garak nodded. “Well, as long as you don’t make a habit of it, I am sure it will be alright in this instance.”

“And what about you, Elim? Do you believe that I won’t let anything happen to you?”

The Cardassian cleared his throat and avoided eye contact. “I believe that you would not intentionally harm me, if you had an alternative to doing so.”

“That’s not exactly a resounding affirmative, but for now I guess it will have to do.” He pulled Garak closer, hovering his lips over those of his lover. “And what about exclusive rights to your bed, hm? Do you think you can confine yourself to the arms of one hopelessly sentimental human?” He brushed his lips teasingly over the Cardassian’s.

“Mmm…” Garak melted into the doctor’s embrace speaking haltingly between the young man’s kisses as they increased in intensity. “Well... mmm… I will certainly try to dissuade all of the…ngh… tailor-groupies that… mm… frequent my shop.”

“See that you do,” the doctor whispered against his lips. Breakfast forgotten, he pushed the tailor onto the bed, rokassa juice and Tarkalean tea sloshing onto the half-finished scone, and for long moments they fumbled and kissed.

*Nurse Regalla to Doctor Bashir.*

Bashir attempted to disentangle from his lover. “Oh, shit!” he muttered, flying off the bed and searching for his comm badge, frantically looking on the floor, under the sheets, all over. Garak walked calmly over to where he had carefully folded the young man’s uniform, and picked the badge up, holding it out to Bashir as he crawled on the floor.

“Looking for this, my dear?” he whispered.

Bashir shot him a look as he pressed the comm. “Bashir here.”

“Doctor? Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Of course... Oh, shi..” he stopped himself, looking for the chronometer “… what time is it?”

They could hear the nurse trying not to laugh. “It’s nearly 0730, doctor.”

“Oh. I’m sorry Beliah, I… uh… I overslept.”

“Of course, doctor. I figured as much. There aren’t any emergencies, so there isn’t a rush. Just wanted to make sure that you were coming in, is all.”

“Yes. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Bashir out.” He glared at Garak, who was chuckling quietly. “This is your fault.”

“Doctor, I seem to remember that _I_ was the one who actually tried to get you out of bed this morning.”

The young man scrambled to his feet and walked sternly over to the Cardassian. He jabbed a finger into the man’s chest plate. “Maybe, but you had to go and be so damned sexy that I got completely distracted. If I get written up over this, I will make sure your role in my tardiness is known to the whole station.” He smiled mischievously.

Garak’s smile dissolved. “Ah, which brings us to another matter.”

“Which is?”

“Which is how to proceed when we are not in the privacy of one another’s quarters.” 

“Oh.” Bashir’s face fell.

“Oh, indeed.” Garak looked ruefully at him as he ran gentle fingers through the doctor’s passion-mussed hair. “I hardly need to tell you that many of your colleagues view me with, shall we say, thinly veiled contempt. Many of them would not be pleased if they were to know about our involvement. And I have no desire to jeopardize their esteem for you.” 

“I guess Miles and Kira wouldn’t be entirely happy, would they?”

“Doubtful.”

“I really don’t like the idea that we have to sneak around, though.”

“But, at least at first, perhaps it would be prudent.”

Bashir nodded glumly. “I guess I’d better get ready for work.” He turned towards the bathroom, already dreading the grilling that Nurse Regala would give him for being so late. But Garak grabbed his wrist and yanked him back.

“However, you should know that it won’t be easy for me to act as though nothing has changed between us.” He pulled the doctor in for a heated kiss, and Julian once again felt the blood pounding in his ears. 

“I’ve got to get ready,” he said breathlessly as Garak’s mouth trailed kisses down his throat.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” the Cardassian said, disengaging quickly. He turned the young man around by the shoulders and escorted him to the bathroom, smacking his behind just before the door closed between them.

When Bashir opened the bathroom door a short while later, he saw his uniform laid out neatly on the bed, his comm badge and a slip of paper placed on top.

_Julian,_   
  
_As much as I would have delighted in seeing you freshly emerged from your shower, I am afraid I might not have been able to contain my ardor when you returned— (What was it that Wilde fellow said about resisting everything but temptation?)— And of course I would hardly want to make you any more late than you already are. (Which is a lie. In fact, I would have very much enjoyed causing you to miss your entire shift— perhaps next time….)_   
_Would be willing to join me for lunch?_   
_Devotedly,_   
_E_   


* * * 

“That’s not a very large lunch.”

Garak looked at the doctor as he took his customary seat opposite him in the replimat. “I had a rather late start today. I didn’t get to breakfast until almost 11:00, so I am not entirely ravenous.”

Bashir looked at him with mock-innocence. “We could have canceled lunch, then. I hate to have you just sit here while I eat.”

Garak waved a hand dismissively. “My dear doctor, how could I cancel when our lunches together are the highlight of me week?” He gave the human a pointed stare to indicate his sarcastic-sounding words were anything but. “Anyways, with how quickly you usually eat, I am sure I won’t have to watch you for long.”

“I think you’re right. My only breakfast this morning was a few bites of scone.” 

“Tut, doctor. I believe that people from both Earth and Cardassia believe that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. What could possibly have distracted you from having a full breakfast?”

“Well, I had a late night,” Bashir said and Garak felt his stomach turn by the mischievous look in the doctor’s eyes. “And I was pretty exhausted this morning. I had company, and they made me late for work.”

Garak lowered his voice. “My, dear doctor. Your guest should be ashamed of themselves for interfering with your duty.”

“You know, Garak, I don’t think my guest was sorry about it in the least. Of course, my nurse wouldn’t let up on me for being late. I tried to play it off as if I just overslept, but she told me it was obvious that I hadn’t slept alone last night.”

“How very astute of her.”

“Yes. And a bit nosy. She said it was obvious that I had “gotten lucky” and demanded to know who my new girlfriend was.”

Garak snorted. “Well, I always have thought the Bajorans were too forward.”

Bashir looked at him pointedly. “It is hardly a trait confined to the Bajorans. In fact, aren’t you just dying to know who my guest was?”

The tailor assumed a look of haughty indignation, but couldn’t quite wipe the smile from his face. “My dear doctor. I am far too old to keep track of who is hoping in and out of your bed.” 

“Well, I think it will become a somewhat easy task, really. I’m rather hoping that my company from last night will take up a more permanent residence in my bed.”

Garak felt his heart flip. “I am sure they feel the same way. Imagine how fortunate they feel to have shared your bed for one night, let alone at the prospect of a more permanent arrangement.”

Bashir smiled at him. “But what about you, Mr. Garak. How was your morning?”

The Cardassian sighed. “Well, you know how it is. Someone needs their pants hemmed or a wedding dress has to be let out… again… from the bride-to-be having one too many Idanian spice puddings. Pretty routine. I do have one rather interesting piece of work, though. Chalon has commissioned me to make her a gown — given me free reign as to its design — so I have been enjoying that project. In fact, I had breakfast with her this morning to go over a few sketches and fabric swatches. And would you believe that she thought I, too, had company last night?”

Bashir raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Of course I informed her that she was quite mistaken. I told her that such scandalous activities were much better left to the young.”

“Oh, I don’t know Garak. A handsome, intelligent, urbane man such as yourself? I can see why she would doubt your sincerity.”

“You are too kind. However, no matter how much I denied her allegations, she wouldn’t believe me. Much like your nurse, she was far too curious for my liking.”

Bashir’s eyes twinkled. “Now I’m curious, too, though. Did you have company last night?”

“Doctor, even if I had, do you really think I would tell you?”

They smiled conspiratorially at each other across the table. Garak’s palm itched to reach out and touch the young human… even just to brush his fingertips over Bashir’s.

“I did manage to read a few of the poems you gave me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and just as I suspected, they were quite sentimental.”

“It seems I remember a certain Cardassian friend of mine saying not too long ago that his stance on human sentimentality had changed recently.”

Garak looked scandalized. “Really? That is rather distressing. The poor wretch must be going senile. Lulled into complacency by soft words and a life of idleness.”

“Don’t forget the lustful passion of a Starfleet officer.” 

“That too? Oh, then he is a lost cause. Yet another casualty in these difficult times.” Unable to resist temptation any longer, he allowed his knee to rub against the doctor’s. “But perhaps even more disturbing is the fact that you have Cardassian friends at all. Surely you know how dangerous they are. And once a friendship is established there is no knowing what will happen or where it will lead.”

“I suppose it is a risk I am going to have to take.” He felt Bashir’s hand squeeze his thigh and he thrilled at the touch. Despite Bashir’s earlier dismay about “sneaking around” as he had described it, Garak was hardly opposed to covert operations, and a romance in the shadows was frankly the only kind he’d ever had. 

As the doctor finished his lunch, Garak looked at the chronometer. “Well, doctor, once again you have wolfed down your food, and there is plenty of time left of your lunch hour. Perhaps you would accompany me to my shop? I would appreciate your input on the dress I am currently designing for Chalon.”

“You want my opinion on fashion?” Bashir looked at him incredulously.

The Cardassian smiled. “Of course. I mean, surely you don’t think I have ulterior motives luring you to a more private area of the station.”

“Of course not.” He scooted his chair back. “Well, lead on, my conniving friend.”

The tailor stood and placed a gentle hand on the doctor’s back, just as he had done a hundred times before, but he felt the young man arch into the touch delightfully. He steered him out of the replimat and headed in the opposite direction of his shop.

“Garak, I’m pretty sure we’re going to wrong way.”

“I thought we’d take the scenic route.”

He led them to a secluded area along an upper pylon, the corridors deserted and the lighting dimmer than the Promenade. Tentatively, he reached out for the doctor’s hand. While humans enjoyed holding hands, the meeting of palms to Cardassians was a very intimate gesture, and he reveled in the touch.

“You’d best be careful, my dear Garak. I think I may have mentioned certain ideas I’d entertained that started with me pushing you into a dark corner,” Bashir said, his voice low.

“Do you mean I am not safe, doctor?”

“That is exactly what I mean.” With fire in his eyes, Bashir placed a hand on the tailor’s chest and began to push him into an alcove.

*Doctor Bashir, please report to Ops.*

The human’s eyes widened in exasperation. “I have to say that I am getting sick of these interruptions!”

Garak nodded. “Agreed.” He looked at his lover teasingly. “Of course, you could always resign your commission. I won’t say that I could offer you a very luxurious life on my modest tailor’s income…” 

The doctor waved him quiet and pressed his comm badge. “On my way, Captain.”

“Do you mind if I walk with you?”

Bashir smiled. “Of course not.”

As they walked back towards the more inhabited parts of the station, and the turbolift that would take the doctor to Ops, Garak’s fingers would “accidentally” brush the small of his back, his thigh. Each time, Garak delighted in the little smile that Bashir darted his way. He realized it was foolish — he felt like a child again with a first crush— but he couldn’t help the way his pulse sped at each minor touch.

“Well, I suppose this is where I should leave you,” he said as they neared the turbolift. Suddenly Garak pushed him into the shadows of a bulkhead, pressing his back against the cold metal. The tailor leaned into him, his mouth at Bashir’s ear.

“As always, I enjoyed our lunch together, doctor.” His voice was silken and seductive. He brushed his hand down the front of the young officer’s uniform and settled over the apex of his thighs.

“As did I, Mr. Garak.” His voice was strangled.

Garak tutted in his ear. “Oh, I thought we were finally past such formality… Perhaps we can become more familiar again tonight? Say, my quarters around 2100?”

Bashir just nodded.

“Good.” Garak leaned in and Bashir closed his eyes, his lips parted and waiting. But the tailor just stood there. When the doctor opened his eyes, they were full of frustrated desire. “Well, then I won’t keep you any longer,” the tailor said and turned to walk back towards his shop.

* * * 

“Ah, there’s our Romeo,” O’ Brien said as soon as Bashir peaked his head in the door.

“Sorry I’m late everyone,” he said, ducking in quickly and taking a seat next to Jadzia, hoping that his discomfiture wasn’t as obvious as it felt. One quick look at the Trill’s face, though, made it apparent that his attempt to be discrete had failed miserably. Her eyes were wide and looked entirely too knowledgeable for his taste.

“Doctor.” Sisko looked at him pointedly, pausing enough to make his displeasure known, but resumed where he left off. “This is a politically sensitive mission. The Federation is concerned that there is a strong Maquis presence on the planet. Any neglect on the part of the Federation could be incentive for others to join their cause. But all of that doesn’t really matter. The solar flares in the Entara system have severely altered the climate on five of the seven inhabited planets. This has resulted in droughts on Cielo Primo and Terra Verde, and flooding on Cielo Dos, La Madre, and La Niña. Famine has been the largest problem, and four different plagues have resulted. And since we’re the closest station to the system, we have been called upon to help. We need to make every effort to alleviate their suffering. We are to prepare for immediate departure. Doctor, you will need to round up as much medical staff as possible — leave only a skeleton crew here. Dax I need you to….”

The Captain continued to outline their plan, and once they were dismissed, they rushed to their respective tasks. Before Bashir could depart for the infirmary, though, Dax grabbed his arm. “Julian?”

“Yes Jadzia?” He tried to look nonchalant, but he could feel the blush puddling in his cheeks.

Her eyes widened in delight. “Oh, you did, didn’t you?!”

“Really, Jadzia, we have work to do.”

She tilted her head. “Alright, but it takes a couple of days to get to the Entara system, and I expect the full story.”

“OK, but please, for right now, don’t say anything to anyone.”

She smiled. “My lips are sealed,” she said and then turned to her duties.

After he had finished making the arrangements for their mission, it was nearly time to leave. Rushing across the promenade, he ducked quickly into Garak’s shop.

The Cardassian’s eyes lit up when he saw him. “Doctor, how nice of you to drop by.”

“We’re leaving.”

Garak’s face showed no emotion. “Yes, I rather feared something of the sort. The Entara situation?”

“How did you know?”

Garak just gave him a look. Bashir shook his head.

“Of course, why do I even ask?” He looked around the store, a Bajoran couple was in the corner looking at some fabric and he could see a pair of Bolian boots from underneath the fitting room curtain. Damn. That limited what he could say. “…I’m not sure how long we’ll be gone, so I may miss a few of our lunches.”

“Yes, a mission such as this does tend to make scheduling an issue. While I doubt you’ll have much time, I did want to give you this.” The tailor pulled an isolinear rod out from under his counter. “It is something I’ve had rattling around my shop for a while.” He lowered his voice, but continued to speak in his “customer service” voice. “I thought you might find it useful. It is rather good at scrambling communications and allowing them to pass undetected on the background radiation that warp engines generate. The scrambling is not fool proof, you understand, so care must be taken to be discreet with messages, but I thought that you might have use for it during your trip. We still haven’t discussed Rumi, after all.” As he handed the rod over, his thumb brushed the doctor’s hand and the contact sent a shiver through Bashir’s body. Just as with their lunch, the covertness of their interactions heightened rather banal conversation to something that felt almost illicit.

“Thank you. I would hate to let our literary discussions lapse for too long.”

“As would I.” Garak broke contact and looked over his shoulder at the Bajoran couple. “Isn’t that fabric delightful? I’ll be over in just a second to show you how it would look on the design you’ve chosen.” Bashir felt his heart leap at the intense look in the Cardassian’s eyes. “I wish we had time for me to show you just how much I will miss our… literary discussions.” 

_Oh._ Bashir swallowed. “Yes, I rather wish there was time for that, too.”

“Then it will just give us something to look forward to upon your return.”

…

Dinner on the Defiant before a mission was always a mixed affair. The air was full of kinetic energy. Conversations usually involved anything but the mission ahead, and Bashir had a feeling his lateness to the meeting would be a prime topic of conversation. He was right.

“… Oi and then he comes in, face as red as a beet, hair mussed, and the guiltiest look on his mug you ever did see…. “ O’Brien leaned over towards Dax “And not to mention looking more well rested than I’ve seen him in weeks.”

Bashir could feel Jadzia’s glance burrowing into him, the smile on her face almost lecherous. “I know. There does seem to be a rosy glow about him, today, doesn’t there?”

Bashir bristled. “Really, is there that little to talk about that my sleeping habits are the most interesting topic of conversation?”

“Oh, it’s not your _sleeping_ habits that we’re talking about, boy-o,” O’Brien winked, turning back to Jadzia. “My money’s on the new dabo girl. Wot’s her name, Cella?”

“I don’t know, Chief. I think Julian’s tastes are maturing. She strikes me as a bit too young and innocent for the “New Julian Bashir.””

“Hm. Yes, now that you mention it, when I saw him in Quark’s last night, he did seem to have a different air about ‘im,” He elbowed the doctor. “Couldn’t even get him to play a single game of darts with me. Even when he started going out with Leeta, he always made time for a game.”

“I don’t know Miles. Do you think its love?” Jadzia whispered loudly.

O’Brien looked at the doctor appraisingly. “Might be, Jadzia. Any other time, he’d be in here jawing our ears off about his latest conquest. Could it be that some lovely young thing has finally captured the heart of our wayward doctor?”

“Or some stately mature thing?” Dax said over the rim of her cup.

“As flattering as all of this interest in my love life is, there must be something more interesting we can talk about,” Bashir said.

“Nope.”/ “Can’t think of anything.” Dax and O’Brien said at the same time and they laughed.

“Oh, come on Julian,” Dax placed a hand on his. “Like I told you before, we just want you to be happy. And you can hardly begrudge us a little speculation…” She looked pointedly at him.

O’Brien leaned over to Jadzia. “What I want to know is when he’s finally going to tell us who his new girl is. I mean, he’s treating it like some big secret. Or like he’s ashamed of her or something.” 

“I’m not ashamed. But maybe they have requested that I not go around and tell everyone.”

O’Brien looked at Dax. “Ah, the plot thickens. She’s the secretive type. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised with some of the company he keeps.”

Bashir put his cup down rather forcefully. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

O’Brien laughed. “Nothing! Just you tend to have a taste for the mysterious, don’t you? Can’t resist a challenge. What was that one girl’s name? The Elaysian? The more she pushed you away, the more you clung to her. And then some of your friends are pretty damned mysterious…”

“Chief...” Dax said with a hint of warning in her voice.

“Remember how a-flutter he was when that Cardi spy first talked to him? Blushing and stammering like some pretty girl had just come up and kissed him!”

Bashir folded his arms and looked at his friend coolly. “And what if it was the “Cardi spy” that had come up and kissed me?”

O’Brien held up his hands, laughing. “Alright, alright. I’ll quit, I swear.” He picked up his dinner items. “I guess I’d best get back down to engineering, anyway. I noticed a funny sound coming from the plasma discharge interrupter, so I had probably better check it out before the whole ship blows apart like it’s made of Bactenine explosives!”

Bashir and Dax sat quietly for a moment after O’Brien left. Dax was the first to speak. “You’ll have to tell him eventually.”

Bashir exhaled. “I know. But Garak _did_ ask that I not say anything for a while. He said he was afraid it would jeopardize the crew’s “esteem” for me.”

“So you two are just going to pretend like nothing is going on? No offense, Julian, but I can’t really see you keeping a secret for that long.”

 _If only you knew_ he thought. “Yeah, I guess I’m not that good at keeping secrets.”

“You aren’t; so you’re going to tell me how it went last night.”

He sighed. “I was going to call it off. Everything. The whole friendship.” He looked sidelong at Dax. “But I couldn’t do it.”

She smiled warmly at him. “I’m glad you didn’t. I mean, in a way you two have been dating for over three years now. It’s about time that you both realized it.” She looked at him playfully. “So did he hold the door open for you? Pull out your chair?”

Bashir rolled his eyes. “Way to make me feel emasculated, Dax.” He laughed. “No, he didn’t pull out my chair.”

“Well, did he kiss you goodnight?” Her tone was laced with innuendo.

He glared at her. “Jadzia.”

“What? None of my hosts were ever with a Cardassian. I can’t help being a bit curious. What do his scales feel like?”

“Jadzia!”

“Ok, Ok. Can you at least tell me how the evening started?”

“We went out to dinner.”

“And?”

“And it was nice.”

“Julian,” she said in exasperation.

“Alright. It was really nice.” He smiled brightly at the force of her glare and flinched when she smacked him. “Ow. OK. No need for violence.” He leaned back, and felt some of the playfulness melt at the memories of their date. “I don’t know, Jadzia, it just felt… right. I mean, we’ve always kinda flirted with each other. Ever since he introduced himself. I always told myself that it was just his little game with me. I kept thinking it didn’t mean anything to him. But I was wrong.”

“What did he say to change your mind?” She was a ball of curious energy.

“It wasn’t what he said so much.” He thought back to their evening. “I’ve just never seen him so… vulnerable. He’s always been so guarded — always trying to distract and cover up what he’s actually thinking and feeling. Even when he was going through withdrawals, he just kept spinning tales and lies. There wasn’t any of that last night. I mean, he was still trying to cover his feelings… he just wasn’t doing a very good job.”

“I’ve often found that people who have spent so much of their lives living behind a façade are doing so at least partially because they _are_ so vulnerable. Once you get past the barriers, though, it can be pretty overwhelming.”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, well, it was.”

“That good, huh?”

He could feel his cheeks flush. “I, uh, I’m not sure I feel comfortable talking about it.”

She laughed. “Alright. But if you ever want to talk about anything, I’m here. I remember when Tobin was dating this guy named Rayaud. He was a total mess — even more nervous than when he tried to date girls. Rayaud was his first male partner, and Tobin had so many questions, but he didn’t feel comfortable asking anyone. He was _so_ shy. He and Rayaud probably would have been together longer if Tobin had been a little more comfortable asking for advice.” She placed her hand over his.

He relaxed. “Thanks, Jadzia, I’ll keep it in mind.

Back in his room, Bashir slipped the isolinear rod into the port, quickly tapping in the tailor’s line. It was late enough that the Cardassian would have closed up shop, but early enough that he was unlikely to be in bed. The doctor waited and hoped that he wasn’t out having dinner. 

“Good evening, doctor.” Garak’s face appeared, a slight haze of static blurring his features, but his smile was unmistakable.

“Good evening, Garak.”

“I trust your trip has been uneventful so far?”

“No problems in terms of the mission; no.”

“But?”

“The crew… well, you know how we were talking about how nosy people can be?”

“Hm. So your colleagues are a bit bored and they’re tense because of their impending mission. They’re making small talk that is perhaps a little intrusive?”

“Yes.” Bashir swallowed. “Garak, I didn’t tell you before, but Jadzia knows...”

“Hm. Well, I can’t say I’m entirely surprised. She always has struck me as a most perceptive individual.”

“Well, in this case she didn’t have to be very perceptive. I told her.”

There was a pause, and for a second, the doctor thought the connection had broken. Then he heard Garak clear his throat. “I see.”

“She and I talked before anything had happened between us. I was a mess, and I wasn’t really sure what I was feeling. She knew something was wrong and even though I didn’t tell her who I was thinking about, she made a guess and it just happened to be correct.”

“Can you trust her to keep silent?”

“I don’t think she understands why I’m keeping it a secret. She seems to think it’s no big deal.”

“Really? Has she met Chief O’Brien? Or the Major? I hardly think they would think it is “no big deal.””

“She says that they’re my friends and that they will support me no matter what.”

He heard the Cardassian snort derisively. “A Federation viewpoint if ever I heard one.”

“Well, we are Federation officers.”

“Yes, I’m well aware.” There was another pause, then: “Well, what’s done is done. And Chalon knows too, of course. No matter what I told her this morning, she is aggravatingly perceptive for a Bajoran.”

“You seem to share an awful lot with her. Should I be jealous?” He couldn’t help his playful tone.

“I don’t know; should I be jealous when you’re in the holosuites with Chief O’Brien? 

“Miles is a good friend. But he isn’t half as stimulating as you.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

Bashir lowered his mouth close to the receiver. “I wish I was there with you.”

“I feel the same way.”

“Do you want to discuss Rumi tomorrow? Same time?”

“Yes, I’d like that. As sentimental as it is, you’re quite right. It is beautiful. Rather like the person who introduced me to it.”

Bashir could feel his cheeks glowing. “Perhaps you can read me one of your favorites.”

“Yes, I think I could manage.”

Bashir was loathe breaking the connection, but knew that he would have to get up early in the morning once they reached their destination. “I had better get to bed. Good night…” he lowered his voice. “…Elim.”

Garak’s voice lowered, too. “Good night, Julian.”

The doctor put the isolinear rod away carefully under the clothes in his duffel. Sitting in bed, he flipped through the paper pages of the poetry that his aunt had given him, looking for the poems he would read to his lover the next evening.

* * * 

Garak sat in his shop, surrounded by sketches of his tentative designs for Chalons dress. His concentration was somewhat lacking, though, and he found his mind drifting once again. He scrolled through Rumi’s poetry, considering how differently he would have viewed it only a few years ago. One line had particularly rung through his mind:

_“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”_

It had been a little over two weeks since the doctor had left the station on the Federation’s mission of mercy. Every evening, Garak and Bashir had clandestinely talked about nothing and everything over subspace; communicating through poetry. Garak put down the PADD, closed his eyes, and sighed, recalling the previous night’s conversation.

...

  
“Garak, don’t you think it’s interesting how poetry can speak to a person’s experiences more succinctly sometimes than any of their own words. Take for instance:

  
 _“When I am with you, we stay up all night._  
 _When you're not here, I can't go to sleep._  
 _Praise God for those two insomnias!_  
 _And the difference between them.”_

“I couldn’t agree more, doctor. I read this one last night and thought it was very fitting to my current state of mind:  
 _“I want to see you._  
 _Know your voice._  
 _Recognize you when you_  
 _first come 'round the corner._  
 _Sense your scent when I come_  
 _into a room you've just left._  
 _Know the lift of your heel,_  
 _the glide of your foot._  
 _Become familiar with the way_  
 _you purse your lips_  
 _then let them part,_  
 _just the slightest bit,_  
 _when I lean in to your space_  
 _and kiss you._  
 _I want to know the joy_  
 _of how you whisper_  
 _"more””_

The pause on the other end of the channel became extended, only to be broken by the doctor’s breathy voice. ““More,” Elim.”

“Oh, doctor. I would read you poetry all night,” he said, his own voice raspy and strained.

“What is the likelihood of someone hearing our conversations?”

“It’s hard to say. Both the encoded frequency and the method of transmission make it unlikely, but the distance the messages are traveling increase the odds of accidental interception.”

“I’m beginning to not care so much. I came across another one of Rumi’s poems that has been resonating with me:

  
 _“Forget safety._  
 _Live where you fear to live._  
 _Destroy your reputation._  
 _Be notorious.”_

“…I want to be notorious, Elim.”

“Give me one second.” Garak’s fingers quickly tapped out a pattern on the console. “There. Now, I hazard to say, the line is secure enough so that we can speak more clearly.”

“Good. Because I’m going crazy with how much I want you.”

“And I, you, Julian.” He felt a tightness in his chest. “You said there was only a day or two left, right? Then you’ll be back?”

“Yes, but I want you now.”

Garak laughed, but his desire made the sound low and guttural. “You’re always so impatient.”

“I can’t help it. I always get this way when I want something very badly.”

The tailor’s breathing was shallow. “Are you hard, my dear?”

“God yes.”

“Me too. You’ve trained me well. Every night at 2200, right before you send your first message, my body anticipates hearing your beautiful voice. I think of your perfect body and how it reacts to my touch. I can almost feel your skin — hot under my fingers — can taste the sweetness of your juices.”

“Oh, Elim...”

“Are you touching yourself, Julian?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad. I want you to imagine it’s me. Will you do that?”

“I already am.”

“Good.”

…

The memories of their conversation made the Cardassian painfully aroused, and he was glad he was the only one in the shop at that moment. He opaqued the windows, locked the door, and retired to the back room.

…

_“Elim,” Bashir said after they had both brought themselves to completion. “We’ve known each other a while.”_

“Oh dear, that sounds like the beginning of a sentimental statement.”

He heard Bashir laugh. “You’re right, so unless you want to disconnect now, you’re going to hear it.”

“Very well.” The Cardassian said with an exaggerated sigh.

“Was there a moment when you realized you liked me? As more than a friend?”

Garak leaned back in his chair. “My dear, I always “liked you” as more than a friend.” He exhaled. “But, I didn’t realize it was more than just lust until you stayed with me. When you forgave me.”

He watched Bashir’s face through the static as he processed the information. “For me it was when you went to the Gamma Quadrant with Odo. I was afraid you wouldn’t be coming back. I was afraid for Odo, too; but you were the one I was thinking about.” Bashir looked nervous. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve been talking to Jadzia.”

He figured as much. “Oh? What about?”

“How I feel about you.”

“Hm. And what does she have to say?”

“At first she told me that I was rushing into it: “Julian, just be sure you’re not mistaking sex for love,”” The doctor said, doing a fair impression of the Trill’s voice, and both Garak and Bashir chuckled. “And then she pulled her “I have eight lifetimes” card to try and win the argument.”

“My, how devious of her.”

“I thought so, too. But then yesterday, we were administering vaccines to the people on the Northern continent, and abruptly she turned to me and asked: “Starfleet or Garak?” The Cardassian felt numb, waiting for Bashir to continue. “… and before I knew what I was saying I said you. That I would choose you.”

“You will never have to make that choice, my dear.”

“I hope not, but if I did….”

The tailor felt lightheaded, and interrupted before the young man could continue. “Julian, do you remember the night we spent together?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember afterwards, you asked if I had said something in Kardasi?”

“Yes.” 

“As I held you, I remembered one of the more heretical quotes from that book I told you about, “The Private Labyrinth or Gul Dinset.” It was from the culminating scene. Gul Dinset and his young lover had been discovered. They were on trial together, Dinset was on the stand, and the council expected him to renounce what he had done. Instead, he looked at his lover, and said _“Kea n’alssta sa Karda-sé._ ”

“And what does that mean?”

“The closest translation into Standard would be: “You over the Union.””

...

It was 0400 two days later when Garak broke through the security protocols of the station. He had taken his breakfast the previous morning with Odo, and had gleaned when the shapeshifter was most likely to not be on duty. While he had been unable to prevent Odo from hearing his last transmission to Cardassia, he had no desire to repeat the experience. His hand moved quickly over the control panel, and he waited to see if the communication would be picked up.

When Mila’s face appeared, Garak saw that she looked older than the last time he had talked to her, even though it hadn’t been that long since Tain’s ill-fated trip into the Gamma Quadrant. Not for the first time, his mind attempted to fathom the relationship between the two of them, but it was uncomfortable territory. Those thoughts only led to uneasy introspection and deeply held resentments.

“Mila. I’m sorry to contact you at such an inhospitable hour.” he said, but in truth he meant: *I’m sorry I couldn’t save him.*

She nodded. “It’s alright. I had to get up eventually, anyways.” *You did what you could.*

“It’s very early, though. And I would think there wouldn’t be as much to do as there once was.” *He’s gone. Do you plan on staying in his house?*

“Perhaps not as much, but I still keep my days full.” *Yes, this is my home.*

“Of course.” He paused. “Mila, do you know the tea urn that Tain kept in the attic.

She raised her eye ridges. “Yes.”

“I was thinking it would look very nice in my shop.”

Her eyes searched his face. “It is very old, Elim. It isn’t the type of thing that should be treated lightly.”

“I don’t intend to treat it lightly,” he couldn’t help but think his voice sounded petulant, as it had when he was a child and he was asking for something he didn’t really think he would ever get.

“Is there someone you would like to serve tea to?”

“There is.” 

He watched as unshed tears puddled in her eyes — never had he seen her cry and it made every muscle in his body tense. “Tain once served me tea from that urn.” Garak was taken aback at her admission. He had been able to guess that Mila had, at least at one time, loved Tain, but that the head of the Obsidian Order might have felt the same way about her… his thoughts reeled. Never would he have thought that Mila’s feelings for Tain were actually reciprocated. Not at least to the point of performing the _el-ran-geth_ ceremony with her.

Mila quickly wiped her tears away. She looked at him— her manner reserved again, her tone conversational. “Did you know that Tain once entertained a guest from that station you live on? I believe he was a doctor.”

Garak swallowed. So she knew about that. “I believe I may have heard something to that effect. Quiet strange that a human would make such an long and dangerous trip.”

“I thought so too. I figured it was for a very special purpose. Otherwise, why would a human, let alone a Starfleet Chief Medical Officer, undertake such a long and dangerous journey. But it speaks to his bravery... and perhaps his devotion.” She looked at him shrewdly. “Devotion to his duty, of course.”

“If it was the man I think it was, then yes. He is very devoted. Passionate about his work… and in all other aspects of his life. He strikes me as the very best that his species has to offer.”

“Then perhaps you can serve him some tea.” She paused. “I will make sure that the urn gets to you. Good night, Elim.” And she signed off.

Garak sat back from the console, and poured himself a glass of kanar. Just when he thought he had practically completed a puzzle, far too often a piece would appear that totally changed the picture.

As he digested the new information that Mila had alluded to, across the room, the coating to one of the wall panels waited patiently for the Cardassian to go to bed so that it could change shape and make its way back to its own quarters.

Odo wasn’t quite sure what to make of the conversation he had just witnessed. After his breakfast with Garak that morning, he had been convinced that the tailor was up to no good. Otherwise why would he have been so curious about the constable’s rest-cycles? Yet, instead of some illegal transaction or nefarious plot, the constable had instead witnessed a very personal conversation; and he felt somewhat guilty about his presence. He knew enough about Cardassian culture and customs to know the importance of what had just taken place, and the realization about what had apparently been going on between the tailor and the doctor surprised him.

Since their return from the Gamma Quadrant, the constable had started having breakfast regularly with the Cardassian. It was a strange relationship, built on mutual distrust and allusions to intrigue; yet perversely, Odo found their conversations enjoyable, a bit like living in the hard-crime earth novels that O’Brien lent him.

But while Odo felt he had a fairly good understanding of the tailor, this new information didn’t fit with his mental profile.

The Constable had often wondered about why Dr. Bashir and Garak spent so much time together, but he hadn’t considered that what was between them was anything more than friendship. To think that they might be… involved? It was a strange idea.

Odo had to begrudgingly admit that there were many similarities between himself and the tailor— their loneliness, their inability to return home, their issues with trust. And after seeing the Cardassian’s interactions with Tain, Odo had realized they shared another commonality: neither of them had good relationships with their respective father figures. And the lengths to which Garak had gone to please his mentor felt uncomfortably familiar to the constable. He could understand the Cardassian’s suffering and his desire for companionship

But Odo knew better than anyone how it felt to have the possibility of requited love dangled in front of him only to have it horribly ripped away. First with Kira and Bareil, then with Shakaar; the shapeshifter’s equivalent to a heart had been broken in ways that he thought he would have been immune to. He found that he wished to spare Garak similar heartbreak.

After the Cardassian finished his kanar and headed to his bedroom, Odo shifted to a transient odor and returned to his own quarters to reflect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for typos!~


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garak and Bashir reunite and come to something of a temporary agreement (Warnings for smut and romance)

Bashir was exhausted. While the troubles in the Entara system weren’t completely resolved, their efforts had at last been reinforced by additional Federation relief workers and the outbreaks of disease were under control. The famine, droughts, and floods would take time to be neutralized, but with the very best Starfleet scientists leading the way, he had no doubt that the system would soon be on the road to recovery. 

As he and his colleagues stepped through the airlock, he scanned the faces of the crowd waiting for them. Keiko and Molly ran up to embrace Miles. He saw Sisko and Jake hugging. Even Shakaar was there waiting for Kira’s return. He felt a touch on his arm.

“I’m sure he’s waiting for you just out of sight,” Jadzia said quietly and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

After the crowd thinned out, he re-shouldered his medical supply bag and turned to go to the infirmary.

“It’s been almost a month and you’re not even going to say hello?”

The doctor’s face broke into a smile and he turned to see…nothing. There was no sign of Garak. Then suddenly, as though appearing out of thin air, the Cardassian seemed to emerge from the wall itself.

“How did you do that?!”

Garak smiled. “Just a little trick I picked up back in my student days. Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t be here to greet you.” 

The doctor quirked a lopsided smile. “It may have crossed my mind, but I’m glad I was wrong.”

“And I’m glad you’re back.” 

Bashir wanted so desperately to embrace his lover, but suspected that Garak wouldn’t appreciate the gesture in such a public area. Well, he would allow it for now, but the last few weeks had given him a lot of time to think about what he wanted from this relationship, and he fully intended to discuss his findings at the first opportune moment. Instead, he raised his hand, palm outward. He was delighted at the pleased look on Garak’s face. The tailor touched palms with him, and Bashir was amazed at how the simple gesture felt so intimate.

“I know you must be tired, doctor, but I was hoping I might be able to persuade you to come to my quarters tonight around 2030. I just received a rather unusual relic from Cardassia that I thought you might find interesting. And if antiquities aren’t enough incentive, I also managed to procure some _real_ Cardassian foods that I hope you’ll partake in with me.”

“I’d like that very much. Should I bring anything?”

Garak gave it some thought. “A toothbrush?” he said with a provocative smile.

“Well, I am quiet tired…” Bashir looked at him mischievously and lowered his voice. “…hopefully you won’t object too much to going to bed early tonight?”

The Cardassian’s eyes burned intently. “Not at all.”

Bashir headed to the infirmary, his crew already working to catch up from the extended journey. He put away the controlled substances and went to his desk to review what had happened in his absence.

“Harumph.”

Bashir turned away from the PADD he was reading to see Odo standing in the doorway to his office. The doctor was surprised at the unexpected visit.

“Odo, is everything alright? You never come to the infirmary.”

Odo stood awkwardly. “Yes, doctor, I’m fine. I… well… I was wondering if I might speak with you for a minute.”

His curiosity piqued, Bashir’s brow furrowed, but he waved his hand towards the chair. “Of course. What’s on your mind?” The constable seemed to consider the chair for a moment as if debating, but then sat down. “Doctor, I’d like to ask you a question. But, I find that I am having difficulty thinking of a way to approach the subject.”

Bashir made a concerted effort not to smile. So many medical conversations started with that kind of opening: _“Doctor, it’s embarrassing, but I find that I can’t...well… it’s been about a week since I’ve been able to…” “Doctor, I have a “friend” that sometimes takes a cucumber and…” “Doctor, I just got back from Risa and… well… I have this burning sensation…”._ They had a special section in Starfleet medical on just how to deal with delicate topics. Bashir got up and closed the door, then returned to his chair. 

“Really, Odo, there is nothing to feel awkward about. As a doctor, I have heard just about everything.”

“Yes, well, (hmph), this is a question for a friend.”

Ah yes, the “friend” questions. If something is too uncomfortable to talk about for yourself, put it off on a “friend.” Very well, he could provide assistance to Odo’s “friend.” 

“And just what is wrong with this friend?”

Odo paused, finding the question amusing considering the friend he was talking about. “Well, there is quite a bit wrong with him, but that isn’t why I’m here. You see, he’s in love with someone.”

Bashir couldn’t help but smile. “OK. And?”

“And, I want to make sure that this someone also has feelings for him.”

Bashir paused, switching gears in his mind. So perhaps this wasn’t a medical question. It was a personal question. “Well, have you talked to the object of your “friend’s” affections?”

“I _am_ talking to him.”

 _Whoa._ Bashir sat back in his chair. Was Odo saying what he thought he was saying? Surely not. “Odo, I think we need to be a little more clear on what you mean. Are you saying that I am the person this “friend” is interested in?”

“Yes.”

 _Oh dear._ “Odo, I’m flattered, but… well, how long has your “friend” felt this way?”

Odo looked at the doctor in confusion. “I’m not sure. I think you would probably have a better idea than I. Certainly you two have spent a lot of time together over the past few years.”

Bashir was taken aback. “Wait, you’re actually talking about a friend, aren’t you?” That was first! A “friend” that actually turned out to be a friend!

“Of course I am doctor. A friend I would like to… well… protect. They have suffered a lot, and I would like to at least make some effort to make sure that they be shielded from further heartbreak.”

The insinuation rankled Bashir. “And you think that I will break this person’s heart?”

“It isn’t a secret that you have had many liaisons, doctor. And while it isn’t really any of my business, I happen to know that my friend is interested in more than a brief tryst with you.”

Bashir raised his hand. “Hold on Odo, I think you need to tell me a bit more information. Who are you talking about?”

“Garak, of course. I won’t claim to know exactly what has gone on between you, but when I heard he wanted to perform the _el-ran-geth_ with you, I assumed that you two were… involved.”

Bashir grew pale. “Garak talked to you about us?”

Odo didn’t blush, but if he had been a solid, he would have. “Not exactly.”

The doctor felt himself getting angry. “What do you mean “Not exactly?””

“I may have been privy to a conversation that Garak didn’t know I was present for. I thought it was vital to station security that I find out what he was up to, but when I realized what he was doing, I… well, I hadn’t realized that it was a personal matter.”

Bashir stood up, incensed. “Odo, this is really not acceptable. You can’t just spy on people whenever you feel like it!”

“I seem to remember that you were less convinced of that when Garak was trying to get a piece of Cardassian biotechnology not too long ago.”

“That was different,” he said quietly, but the doctor realized it was hypocritical of him to chastise the constable now when he had been only too willing to spy on Quark when Garak had been ailing. He took a deep breath. “Alright, forget that. You’re right. But still, constable, it is a bit disconcerting to think that you could be watching any given conversation… or interlude.” 

“Doctor, I assure you, had I known that the conversation was of a personal nature, I would not have been there. I have no interest in people’s personal business.”

“Yet here you are.”

Odo looked away from the doctor. “I see your point.”

As reserved and enigmatic as the shapeshifter was, Bashir could sense his distress about the conversation. He took a deep breath and tried to be reasonable. “I know your intentions were good. You’re concerned that Garak might get hurt. But you have to understand, this...” he struggled for a word. “…new facet of our relationship is between he and I. I don’t know what’s going to happen. But I care for him a great deal.”

“Enough to accept his proposal ofel-ran-geth?”

He felt his calm fraying again. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Well, the mating rituals of you solids never really make much sense to me. I am afraid I might not explain it properly.”

“Well, then how am I supposed to know whether I accept it or not?” Bashir couldn’t help but feel frustrated. He could see that Odo was trying to help, but really the whole conversation had been circuitous and aggravating from the start and he _was_ just getting home after a long mission!

Odo handed him a datastick. “I don’t know if this will help, but there is some information on here.” The constable paused. “But perhaps it would be best if Garak told you himself about the _el-ran-geth_. That…”he nodded to the stick. “…is a bit dated.”

Great. More research. And here he thought he had done so well with the Cardassian ritual of the touching of palms. “Alright, Odo. I’ll take a look.”

Odo nodded gruffly and turned to leave.

Before the constable left, though, Bashir called out. “And Odo. It’s nice to know that you want to protect Garak. He could use a few friends.”

Odo looked back and smiled wryly. “Yes. But I think he might have something even more valuable than a friend.”

After the shapeshifter left, Bashir looked between the PADD that contained all the infirmary information he _should_ review and the datastick.

 _If I keep this up, I’ll get fired for sure._ he thought as he put down the PADD and walked out of his office “Nurse Ragala, if there is anything urgent, page me, but I’m going to my quarters. The rest of the team should get some rest, too. Do only what is absolutely necessary and we’ll regroup tomorrow.”

* * * 

Garak took a shot of ken’teth, and focused on the way it burned going down. It did some to help distract him from the upcoming evening… but not enough.

 _You’re a fool Elim Garak_ he chastised himself. _…but what else is new?_

He finished setting out the small bowls for their meal and carefully arranged the cutlery. The last time he used the traditional formal Cardassian setting he had been on Adarak Prime entertaining a rather fastidious Legate. He’d been chosen for the assignment because it seemed that no other agent could make the right presentation. That, and the fact that the Legate had approached him first; making a pass at him by complimented his refined manner and the artistic cut of his clothing. (Once again his sense of aesthetics had served the Union well… not that it had mattered in the end).

He took another shot of the liqueur and felt comfortably warm and just slightly numb. Much better.

He checked on the progress of his various courses, then went back to grinding tea leaves with a small mortar and pestle. It had been easier than he guessed to get real _rethdara_ leaves — no doubt more because of their value as a recreational drug than their traditional purpose. The leaves were just about powdered enough — they needed to be very finely ground for the true effects to be felt… not that he really expected to experience the effect, but there was nothing wrong with being pro forma.

He darted his eyes over to the shelf on which the urn sat. Mila had been good to her word and it had arrived that morning amongst some very fine bolts of fabric. He had already picked a fine brocade out from which he planned to make her a new dress (even after so many years apart, she still knew him well enough to know his intentions and had included her current measurements).

He couldn’t believe he was going to do this, but he knew he couldn’t continue his relationship with Bashir without making his intentions known. Their correspondence during the doctor’s mission had solidified how he truly felt, and even more than during their first rendezvous, he wanted the young man to understand just what he was asking for. But he rather feared the answer. Where all the cruel words he had thrown at Bashir over the course of their friendship might not have dissuaded the doctor from continuing their association, he suspected that tonight’s declaration might very well succeed in causing the boy to run where cruelty had failed.

He was startled when the door chimed and he looked at the chronometer. Oh, no. The doctor was an hour early! Nothing was ready yet. Taking a deep breath and putting his usual pleasant veneer on, he went to the door, prepared to let his acerbic wit tell the young man just where he could go for the next hour.

“My dear doctor, I…” but it wasn’t the doctor.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced,” Dax said with an apologetic smile on her face. “Can I come in for a second?”

Garak took a moment, but recovered. “Of course, Lieutenant, what a delightful surprise. You look lovely as always.” 

She smiled. He had made her the dress she was wearing. “As do you Mr. Garak. Though I rather suspect Julian will be disappointed you aren’t wearing his favorite suit.”

He smiled, but it was thin. “Well, I wouldn’t want him to get sick of it. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”

“Maybe. But Julian seems to be less interested in variety than he used to be.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“Don’t worry; I’m sure it won’t last.” He tried to say it lightly, but he knew it hadn’t worked. He turned from her and poured himself another shot of ken’teth. “May I offer you something to drink?”

“No, I won’t stay long.”

He nodded and took the shot. She walked over to where he stood, looking at the hand holding the shot glass. It was shaking.

“You really do care for him, don’t you?” She looked so surprised that he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I suppose that is rather hard to believe, isn’t it. Everyone on this station thinks that all Cardassians are as one-dimensional and depraved as Gul Dukat. Well, I’m sorry to disappoint, but some of us actually _do_ have character traits other than egocentricity and a lust for power.”

“You can’t blame us for assuming. You’ve never exactly been very open.”

“That has always been a matter of self-preservation, my dear.” He looked in her eyes. “To answer your question: Yes, I do really care for him. To answer your unasked questions: No, this isn’t some scheme. There is no ulterior motive; no devious plan to use him. I simply wish to enjoy his company, and I can only hope that he continues to enjoy mine… for a little while longer.”

She looked at him for a moment, and he was surprised at her shrewd and appraising glance. Finally she nodded. “Then that’s all I need to know.” She leaned over and placed a kiss on his cheek then walked towards the door, leaving him stunned. Before leaving, she turned to him again. “I should let you know I’ve never seen Julian so serious about a relationship before. He’s nervous, but… well, he’s very taken with you. Now that I know you feel the same way, you both have my full support.” She smiled kindly and the door closed behind her.

After she left, he turned back to his cooking, replaying their conversation and remembering all of the communications he and the doctor had shared during the Entara mission — everything running around in circles in his mind. He had somewhere between 1 and 6 more shots… he lost count. The hour passed and just as his chronometer turned to 2030, the door chimed.

“Hello, my dear,” he welcomed Bashir, and his heart felt warmed by the human’s presence. The young man looked radiant in a simple cream-colored shirt and midnight blue pants. The blood hummed in the Cardassian’s veins and he felt just a bit giddy.

“Hi.” Julian smiled, reaching out to entwine his long bronzed fingers with thicker grey ones. He kissed Garak, then licked his lips after they parted, a slight look of concern on his face. “Are you drunk?”

The Cardassian attempted to look affronted. “Certainly not. I just drank enough to ensure that the meal was prepared correctly. Surely you know that the best chefs enhance their natural culinary instincts with just the right amount of alcohol.”

He realized that the doctor didn’t quite look convinced, but thankfully didn’t press the issue. “Well, I’ll admit that I was a little nervous about the prospect of “real Cardassian foods,”but it smells delicious.”

Garak smiled indulgently. “Not to worry. I didn’t wish to scare you away with anything too outlandish. We’ll work our way up to more exotic fare over time.” Still holding Bashir’s hand, he brought it to his lips. “I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am that you are back.”

He poured the doctor some ken’teth after he settled him at the table. “It’s something of a palate cleanser,” he said by way of explanation. Bashir took a sip and let out a cough.

“God, Garak. This is pure ethanol!”

Garak smiled. “Which happens to be a very effective palate cleanser,” he said, arranging the various dishes in the order they were meant to be consumed. “But if you care for something else…”

The doctor patted his chest a few times as he recomposed himself. “No, it’s fine. But I stipulate that if you pour me too many, the consequences will be on your head.”

While the Cardassian wasn’t entirely sure he was ready for the consequences, he nodded. “I shall take full responsibility.”

Garak tried so hard not to think about what he was going to do later that evening, but each time he looked at the young man across the table from him, he felt a bit dizzy. Their conversation wound organically from the recently completed mission to the problems on Cardassia, from art to cinema to literature; the Cardassian couldn’t help but marvel at how deeply he felt for the doctor — and how nervous he was that this could possibly be the last evening they would spend together like this.

“Was the meal satisfactory?” he asked as he watched Bashir take the last _plomek_ fritter.

“Very. I had no idea you were such a fine chef. It makes me how I’m so lucky to have such an accomplished… boyfriend.”

The last word was said quietly, and Garak looked up at him, his stomach fluttering a little at the term. It sounded so juvenile and yet so sweet at the same time. The doctor looked down nervously and took a sip of his ken’teth.“And I’ll even admit that this liquor does seem to enhance the experience.”

“Yes, after a while it goes down surprisingly easy.” The tailor stood. “Why don’t you sit on the couch while I clear the table?”

“I can help,” Bashir said as he stood, too.

“Nonsense.” Garak took him by the shoulders and settled him on the small couch. “You’ve just returned from almost singlehandedly saving the Entara system…You should rest.” He took the urn from the shelf and set it on the small coffee table in front of the doctor — painfully aare fo the shaking in his hands. “While I tidy, you can take a look at this. It isn’t as colorful as your hookah, but this is the antiquity that I wanted to show you.”

The doctor leaned forward and ran a fingertip around the lip of the urn. “This is a beautiful piece of pottery. It looks very old.”

Garak smiled at him as he quickly cleared the table. “It is. I feel very fortunate to have received it.”

“Is it a family heirloom?” He saw Bashir’s eyes light up at the prospect of finding something out about his mysterious past. p>

The Cardassian sighed and shook his head. “It is, but I can make no claim on the family it is from. Let’s just say an old family friend had no legitimate heirs, and it reverted to me for lack of a better inheritor.”

“Oh.” 

Garak noted the disappointed sound in Bashir’s voice and he was surprised at how strongly he wished to make the young man feel better. “However, it is as precious to me as if it were from my father.” He quickly cleared the table, and then returned with the ground _rethdara_ leaves and a pot of boiling water. “These urns were used in ceremonial practices. Their use reaches back to before the founding of the Cardassian Union. Before famine claimed Cardassia, the ancient Hebitians were a deeply religious and spiritual people. They commemorated many of their lives’events with tea ceremonies, and a single family would have many urns for ceremonial use. Each urn was distinct. For instance, the urn at a coming of age ceremony would have an elongated neck, symbolizing the growth of the young person. Urns used in times of mourning were very thin and long, representative of the path the Hebitians believed the spirit of the dead took to the afterlife. An urn of this shape and size would have been used at a particular type of enjoining ceremony. And each urn would be painted to depict these events.”

“Why isn’t this one painted?”

“Because this one is post-Hebitian. Once the Union was founded, the aesthetic of these urns changed — and while they are still used for important events during the Common Era, some of the significance has been lost.” He set down the now-empty water vessel and replaced the lid on the urn. “No, that is not accurate. The significance wasn’t lost. It was stripped. Once the spiritual and religious trappings of the Hebitians were forsaken in favor of the rise of the logical and ordered worldview of the Union, these urns were made to more closely represent the aesthetic of the new ways.”

Sitting down, he looked at the doctor intently. “As I mentioned, in Hebitian times, an urn like this would be present at an enjoining ceremony. However, in this era, it would be somewhat scandalous to have this at a public enjoining. The ceremony it commemorates is rather rare now.”

“Are you talking about the _el-ran-geth_?”Bashir asked quietly.

Garak’s eyes widened. “You know of it?”

“I heard the phrase and did a little research on it. It was hard to find much information, but there were a few sources, including a rather interesting scene in Delmat’s“Folly of the Heathens.””

“You _have_ done your research, haven’t you…”Garak said, feeling suspicious. “Since it is so rarely spoken about, one wonders how you happened to hear about it in the first place.”

Bashir bit his lip. “A colleague of mine overheard someone’s conversation. And while I told my colleague it wasn’t appropriate for him to be eavesdropping, he did have good intentions. He thought my friendship with you would benefit from knowing a little bit more about Cardassian relationship protocols.”

“I see,” Garak said, feeling fairly certain he knew who this “colleague”was ( _damned constable_ he thought to himself and he bristled at the interference). However, the doctor’s knowledge of these matters could make the situation slightly less difficult. “There are many nuances to these protocols. I hope that the information you were able to find was accurate.”

“So do I,” Bahir said. “How about I tell you what I learned and then you can tell me if it is accurate?”

Garak nodded, not quite sure his voice wouldn’t betray his tension.

“It seems there are several different levels of intimacy in Cardassian society. Most of them seem to be somewhat lacking in emotional attachment — whether it’s just casual sex, or an enjoining for the purposes of starting a family, or solidifying a political allegiance.”

He continued. “Then there is the 

el-ran-geth

which seems to be the most deeply emotional joining between two individuals. But it’s somewhat looked-down upon. Like in the “Folly of the Heathens,” the author goes out of his way to point out that the characters who engage in the _el-ran-geth_ are part of a dangerous sect of dissidents who are later tortured and executed.”

Garak knew the scene well. “Would it surprise you to know that Delmat was also tortured and executed for his participation in a dissident movement?”

“It might have surprised me at one time, but not now. As much Cardassian literature as I have read that praises the State, I am starting to wonder how much of it wasn’t subversive in one way or another.”

“Well, there may be one or two pieces that were written by individuals who had some views that differed with the ideals of the Union. But that is a discussion for another time.”

“Yes, it is. Unfortunately that is about the extent of the information I was able to get about it. For instance, I don’t know what the ceremony entails, or what the full implications are of partaking in the ceremony.”

Garak took a deep breath; the ball, so to speak, was back in his court. “Well, as with all things in Cardassian culture, it depends a lot on the circumstances. But the beginning of every _el-ran-geth_ starts with the brewing of a special type of tea. It is the same genus as the red leaf tea that you have had before, but if this specific type of tea is brewed and allowed to sit, it ferments and develops euphoric qualities.”

“As for the ceremony itself, it begins when one member of a relationship decides that they want to demonstrate their devotion to the other. In these cases, there may be something that prohibits a more socially acceptable enjoining. Additionally, they feel that the other more socially acceptable enjoinings don’t fully encompass the depth of their feelings. So, setting aside their nervousness and fear of rejection, they brew a pot of tea in their family’s urn, indicating their intentions and desires.”

Garak willed his voice to sound light, even though he felt as though he were literally offering his heart to the young man. “If the other party is not interested in the joining, they upset the urn — spilling the tea. Some have even destroyed the urn; though that is rare because of the familial importance of these types of artifacts. The smashing of the urn was, however, a favorite trope of Hebitian plays which tended to be rather melodramatic.” He avoided Bashir’s eyes, unwilling to show how invested he was. Any moment, his words and intent would sink in and the young man would leave.

“And what if the other party accepts the offer?” Garak heard the tremor in Bashir’s voice, and felt his own breathing catch in his throat. Surely he didn’t mean…

“After the other party has thought about the offer, the two would serve each other the tea. Depending on the length of time that the tea sat, and its level of fermentation, the couple would then experience a very intense and meaningful evening together.” 

“How long does the other party have to think about the offer?”

He finally gathered his courage and gazed at the doctor earnestly. “As long as they like. It is not unheard of for the tea to remain brewed but untouched for months, sometimes even years.” He smiled wanly. “Of course, after years of it sitting, the tea is often diluted so as to not completely anesthetize the couple.”

“Probably wise,” the doctor said and returned the smile. “They would want to remember such an important event.”

“Indeed.” Garak got up. He was having a hard time believing that the young man hadn’t left. Surely he had made his intentions known. “I feel like having a glass of kanar. Can I offer you anything? I have some springwine. And there is more ken’teth.”

“Springwine sounds good. I think I’ve had enough ken’teth for one night.”

The Cardassian handed him a glass of the delicate wine and resumed his seat. “Thank you for allowing me to share with you the information about the ceremony. After you were so kind as to share some of your ancestral customs, it only felt right that I do the same.”

“I’m honored,” Bashir said, and Garak tried to see if the young man had understood his meaning. “So, it’s a little like a secret marriage?”

“In a way. But Cardassian“marriages,” or traditional enjoinings, are entered into primarily for aligning families and raising children. They don’t necessarily have much emotion behind them. The _el-ran-geth_ does. It’s a very meaningful bond between two people.”

“Have you performed the _el-ran-geth_ with anyone before?”

Garak swallowed. “No. I was tempted to, once, but circumstances made it impossible. In the line of work I was engaged in at the time it was not really permitted to have a family …” he smiled wryly at Bashir.“… I was a traveling gardener. And while we could have engaged in the ceremony privately, it really wouldn’t have worked out.” He shook his head, and smiled at the young man. “But that was long ago.”

Bashir reached out a hand and placed it over Garak’s. “What a shame they didn’t allow gardeners to enjoin.”

“Believe me, if you had known most of the gardeners I worked with, you wouldn’t want them to enjoin for fear it might create little gardeners…” They shared a smiled and sipped their drinks in silence. Then Garak heard the doctor clear his throat. 

It’s not exactly the same thing, of course, but I almost“enjoined” with someone back when I was a cadet. I was totally infatuated with her. I thought she was perfect.” 

The Cardassian tried to ignore the twist in his stomach, and instead smiled charmingly. “Then how is it you are you still such an eligible bachelor?”

Bashir shook his head. “It wouldn’t have worked. I would have had to stay on Earth, and I didn’t want that. I wanted to have adventures, not a stuffy medical practice. And I don’t know that she really loved me.”

“Somehow I find that very hard to believe.”

“Oh, I mean, she _thought_ she loved me. But she didn’t really _know_ me. I never told her certain things, and I think if she knew them, she wouldn’t have approved.”

“Oh, a devious and sinister past?” Garak raised his eye ridges.

“Something like that,” The Cardassian watched as Bashir finished off the wine in a single gulp. The tailor refilled his glass as soon as it was removed from his lips. Bashir gave him a withering look. “And getting me drunk will not pry my secret from me.”

“My dear, who says I want you to tell me your secret at all? I find that knowing there is something about you just beyond my grasp to be very… provocative. Anyway, having you tell me right away would end the mystery too quickly. I would much rather discover it for myself.” He finished off his own liquor. “No, what is far more likely is that I am plying you with alcohol for entirely different purposes.” He reached out and caressed the doctor’s cheek. “I have to admit, I felt your absence quiet distinctly during your mission.” He pulled the young man’s face closer, kissing him deeply. He loved the taste of the spring wine on the doctor’s lips, the silken brush of the human’s tongue against his own. Abruptly, the human pulled away and gazed intently into the Cardassian’s eyes.

“I missed you too, Elim,” he whispered, rubbing the tailor’s neck ridges firmly. “While I enjoyed our nightly talks, it wasn’t the same as being close to you. I missed our lunches; watching you gesture when making a point, or the way you look so intent when telling me how foolish and sentimental I am.” He smiled seductively. “I missed the slight hissing noise you make when you’re deep in thought and you don’t think anyone can hear you, and the way your eyes dart around when you want me to catch you in a lie.”

Garak laughed breathily, his arousal growing by the young man’s stimulation of his neck. “It seems I’ve become too obvious around you.”

“I wouldn’t say that. You’re still as enigmatic as ever, I just have the advantage that I’ve been observing you for a long time.” Standing, he pulled Garak up and started leading him to the bedroom. On their way, Bashir hastily pulled his clothes off, and then started stripping the tailor once they arrived at his bed.

The doctor’s touch was intoxicating— every caress lit fire under the Cardassian’s skin. It felt so good to have the young man back in his arms after what felt like an eternity apart. They kissed desperately, recalling exactly what elicited the most passion in their partner; the nip of sharp teeth against scales, the swirl of a tongue over copper brown nipples.

“Elim, I want you,” the doctor said, his voice choked with desire.

“And you shall have me, my dear,” Garak purred, continuing to press his teeth into the doctor’s shoulder.

The young man pulled away a little. “No, rather, I think I’d like you to have me.” He looked at the Cardassian pointedly.

Garak raised his eye ridges. “Are you sure?”

The human nodded. “Yes. I want to feel you inside me.”

The Cardassian swallowed. _Oh._ The thought of being inside of his lover sent a jolt through his body. He wrapped his arms around the doctor, struggling to maintain his self-control. All of his biological instincts urged him to take the young man forcefully, but he knew that this encounter had to be different from those with his own kind. The knowledge didn’t necessarily make it any easier to restrain himself, but he summoned every ounce of strength he had and gently placed his lover on the bed. He worked the young man’s muscles, delighted as his fingertips felt the quick pulse hammering under the bronzed skin and the way the human writhed and moaned.

“I thought about you while I was gone,” Bashir panted. “Every night. During the day. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

 _Oh, sweet boy, you know just what I like_ the Cardassian thought, reveling in the sound of Bashir’s accented voice.“Mmm. I thought about you as well. Do you want to hear some of the perfectly scandalous things I imagined?” Bashir nodded, his body sinuous under Garak’s touch. “Well, you were gone for so long, leaving me to sit listlessly in my shop. And it was dreadfully quiet. So quiet that I found myself wondering how delightful it would be to hear your moans echoing off the walls. I imagined luring you to my shop on some pretense… the loan of a book, maybe a fitting for a suit… I thought of scheming you out of your uniform. “Oh, Dr. Bashir, you simply must try this on. I think that it would fit you perfectly,” I would say in my most professional tone. You would go into the fitting room, take off that horrible uniform, and I would slip in with a piece of Ebellian silk. Oh, it really is the finest fabric. The way it glides across the skin….”

As he spoke, he traced light fingers across the doctor’s flesh, delighting in the young man’s reactions, yet specifically avoiding the now-swollen sex.

“Would you tie my wrists?” Bashir whispered.

Garak’s eyes opened wide. _Oh, my dear, is that where you want this to go?_ he thought, smiling at the unexpected treat. “Not at first, my love. I would wait until you were hard and shaking with need. I would drive you crazy with that silk, and you would get so desperate that you would try to touch yourself. But I won’t allow it. Oh no. You’ll come when I tell you to and not a moment before,” he whispered in the young man’s ear with a slightly menacing tone in his voice. 

He continued. “The amazing thing with Ebellian silk is that it is soft, but incredibly durable. Once I bound your wrists, you’d be completely in my power.”

Bashir moaned and bucked his hips up, attempting to get the Cardassian to touch his cock. Garak tutted. “I don’t have any silk here, my sweet. The only restraints I have are not nearly as forgiving. So you’ll just have to behave yourself.” Bashir opened his eyes and Garak could see the idea that he had restraints in his quarters was very arousing to the doctor — and he put that little piece of information in the back of his mind. 

“Anyway, where was I? Oh yes. Once I had your hands secured I would press you against the fitting room wall. You would see in the mirror just how much I wanted you.” He allowed his erection to connect with Bashir’s, sliding pre-come along the shaft. “Oh, and I do want you.” 

He loved the way the doctor reacted to his every touch; the way the young man squirmed underneath him — the complete abandon with which the human surrendered to his pleasure was intoxicating to watch. Garak reached over to the bedside table, opened a small vial and covered his fingers in thick, fragrant liquid. Settling between the doctor’s knees he teased the young man’s sex with his tongue then pressed a fingertip inside of him, delighting in the lust-filled groan that followed. The doctor was so tight; his body taut. The Cardassian continued to give the young man pleasure with his mouth, and massaged his thigh with his other hand attempting to put him at ease. Once he felt the tight muscles relax, he slipped in another finger, and began to work them in and out, gently brushing Bashir’s prostate.

“Oh god!” The young man yelled, his body shaking. His eyes were wide, the pupils dilated. He looked at Garak as though they had just shared a secret, and the Cardassian supposed that they had at that. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Garak murmured as he moved up and kissed Bashir’s neck. It was obvious the tension was building for the doctor, and he withdrew his fingers. He wanted to be one with the young man before he came. Maneuvering on the thin bed, he tried to flip the doctor onto his stomach, but met with resistance; amber colored eyes looking upset.

“Can’t I stay like this?”

“It will be easier on you if you turn over.”  
“But I want to see you.” There was a sweet desperation in Bashir’s voice and Garak was powerless in its wake.

“Alright.” He took the thin pillow and slipped it under the doctor’s hips. It wasn’t the ideal height but…

He leaned over, his lips hovering against the soft human ear, sliding thick fingers into his tightness again. “You know, when I thought about taking you in that fitting room, I had to close my shop. I had to go into the back room before anyone could come in and see how completely undone I was.” 

He kissed tenderly along Bashir’s jaw and positioned himself. “Just the thought of taking you, of being inside of you, was enough to make me come. Thinking about how amazing you would feel as I entered….” his actions followed his words, and he felt the doctor’s muscles tense around him. Oh Mogrund. The sensation was more incredible than he could have even imagined. 

“Is that alright?” he asked, desperate to start moving, but unwilling to hurt the precious young man beneath him.

Bashir’s eyelids fluttered open, his pupils wide. “Yes. Its… well… its better than alright,” he whispered. 

He placed his lips against the human’s and slowly started to move his hips. Each time he moved forward, he felt a sharp exhalation of breath against his face as the young man’s spot was stimulated. Unable to restrain himself, he began to increase his speed, but listened carefully for any indication of discomfort from his lover. Hearing nothing but sweet-sounding moans, he allowed his restraint to decrease until he was working the young man eagerly. 

He wanted it to last forever, but it had been so many years since he had been this intimate with another, and he knew it wouldn’t be long. He firmly took the doctor’s sex in his hand, and stroked him in earnest. He could feel how close they both were — neither would last much longer. “Now, Julian. I want you to come for me now,” he ordered, his voice rough from need. 

“Oh Elim!” The doctor shouted as he came, his seed covering the Cardassian’s hand, the contractions of his inner muscles intoxicating around Garak’s sex. With a final thrust, the Cardassian followed his lover in orgasm. 

Long moments passed as his pulse shuddered through his body, warming him wholly. Opening his eyes, he saw Bashir looking up at him; his cheeks flushed and his hair a mess. 

Garak gently withdrew, hating to leave the intimate embrace. Lying down, he pulled the young man into his arms, resting the tousled head on his breast. He felt Bashir’s fingers tracing the ridges on his chest, and for long minutes they sat in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts.

Bashir was the first to speak. “Elim, what other types of relationships are there on Cardassia?”

The tailor’s jaw clenched as his mind ran through the implications of the question. The only one he could settle on was that the doctor wasn’t interested in joining him in the _el-ran-geth_. Of course he isn’t, you fool. He’s a beautiful young man with his whole life ahead of him… what could you possibly have to offer him? Garak thought as he felt a self-reproaching wave of nausea hit him. He forced himself to regroup. “There are several; all of which offer different benefits. Many of them are not exclusive, if that is what you are asking. Cardassians aren’t nearly as limited in their views on sexuality as, say, the Klingons. Just because a couple fucks doesn’t mean that they are mated for life.” He hoped that the doctor would attribute the cracked sound in his voice to their recent physical exertion. 

Bashir looked up at him, and Garak was surprised at the look of anger in his amber eyes “You know something Elim? You make too many assumptions. You always think you know everything; and maybe when it comes to covert operations you’re right. But you still have a lot to learn about humans. What I really wanted to know was if there was a version of theel-ran-geth that wasn’t kept secret.”

Garak just looked at him in confusion. “Of course not. On Cardassia, unions of that type are antithetical to the appropriate level of devotion to the state, and therefore must be kept secret.”

“Well what if the person that _el-ran-geth_ has been proposed to is interested in the enjoining, but doesn’t want to keep it a secret? And what if the couple isn’t on Cardassia?”

Garak swallowed and felt his eyes widen. “Then I suppose certain adjustments could be made.”

Bashir nodded curtly. “Good.” He settled his head back on the Cardassian’s chest. “While I was away, Miles chided me that I must be ashamed of who I was dating since I was keeping their identity a secret. But I’m not ashamed of you, Elim, and I don’t want to hide how I feel.”

That wasn’t at all what the Cardassian had been expecting, and it took him a minute to regroup. “I suppose that, since so many people already know or suspect that we are involved, our relationship wouldn’t have stayed secret for much longer, anyway.”

“Then you don’t mind if I tell people?”

Garak didn’t say anything, and Bashir looked up at him. “You do mind, don’t you?” He looked hurt. “Try to understand, Julian. I have never been in this type of situation before. The only other time I felt like this it was impossible for us to show our affection.”

“Because you were in the Order.”

“It wasn’t just that. She was already publicly enjoined to a high ranking Cardassian politician. When we were discovered…” He closed his eyes and sighed. “… it didn’t end well.”

“I’m sorry Elim.” He felt Bashir’s soft hands on his face, and the young man pressed small kisses to the corners of his mouth. “Does it help that I’m not enjoined to another Cardassian?” the doctor asked with just a hint of humor.

Garak smiled wryly, acknowledging the young man’s attempt to lighten the mood. “Well, it does make it easier.”

“Then will you at least consider letting me tell people?” Garak closed his eyes.

 _Here goes, Elim,_ “Do you mean to say that you would actually consider taking tea with me?” He opened one eye and looked down at Bashir, who looked just a touch unsure.

“How long does it usually take the tea to ferment?”

“Optimal fermentation is between three and six months.”

“Would you give me six months to think about it?”

 _That wasn’t a no!_ Garak’s mind cried in joy. He willed his voice to be calm and level.“Traditionally it would take at least that long, so yes, that is very acceptable... and perhaps you would give me that long to adjust to the idea of everyone knowing about us?”

Bashir tilted his head in acquiescence. “Agreed.”

Garak pulled Julian close again, kissing the soft curls of his hair. “Agreed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd, so apologies for all typos!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five months later, Garak and Bashir decide it is sometimes easier to write than to speak.

_Khala_ Fatima

Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written — it’s certainly not because you haven’t been in my thoughts. In fact, I’ve been reminiscing about the summers I used to spend with you a lot lately, and I recently dragged out the care package you sent to me me when I was a kid. I’ve particularly enjoyed rereading all of the books you gave me — and I have even had the opportunity to share and discuss them with a friend I’ve made here on the station. His name is Elim, but I’ll talk more about him later.  


To be honest, it wasn’t very easy settling in on DS9. All of my colleagues have a lot more real-world experience than I do. Even the woman that seemed closest to my age turned out to be a joined Trill, so she actually has seven lifetimes worth of life-experience!  


It was especially difficult when I first arrived; everyone sort of looked at me like I was some over-enthusiastic puppy. Thankfully, though, by now most of my colleagues have come to tolerate me pretty well, and I’m glad to say that I’m making some strong friendships. I work with a good crew and I feel lucky to be serving with them, even if they do still tend to get exasperated with me from time to time.  


But as hard as it has been to get to know and find my place among my fellow officers, it has been even more of a challenge figuring out how to interact with everyone else on the station. Frankly, I’ve found that my training at the Academy didn’t really prepare me for this posting very well. I’m sure it would be different had I taken a position on a ship where everyone onboard was a Federation citizen. Out here on a non-Federation station, though, it is entirely different. At the Academy, everyone was there to learn — no matter what their background or species. We all had the same goal of becoming officers, so there was a natural camaraderie. And if I was on a ship with only Federation officers, I think the same unity of goals and purpose would be there, too. Here, though, everyone has such varied motivations. I often find myself wishing I had taken more classes that studied your cross-cultural psychology texts — I think they would have helped me a lot out here in deep space.

Looking back at my arrival, I realize why everyone looked at me with such impatience. When I graduated from the Academy, I thought that, because I was a doctor, and knew how peoples’ bodies worked, that I’d have a better understanding of what made them tick. But I realize now that just because I understand how a person’s neurotransmitters communicate, or how their synapses fire, it doesn’t really provide me with any better insight about how their minds work. I guess it’s the whole “sum being greater than the parts” cliché.  


Yet it has been really interesting to see that there are certain traits that transcend cultural and racial barriers. For instance, the liaison officer between the Federation and Bajor reminds me a lot of you. Both you and Major Kira are deeply in touch with your beliefs, but you both can also be really hard headed. She and my commanding officer get into frequent “heated discussions” (read: arguments), and their shouts can be heard all the way down in the infirmary. Each time I hear their yelling matches, I remember your “discussions” with old Jibran. I remember how you two would go at it for hours. But your arguments about the Prophet’s words were an excellent chance for me to get into some trouble out of your watchful eye, so I always loved it when he would visit.  


One thing is for sure, though, a person always knows exactly where they stand with the Major. Not everyone here is as straightforward as she is, though… and that brings me back to my friend Elim.  


Well, to start off with, Elim is the only Cardassian living on DS9, so you can imagine that he isn’t very popular on a Bajoran space station. There are many rumors as to why he’s here, but at least for public record he is the station’s tailor. Most people think he is a spy, and while there is some truth to these rumors, there is a lot more to it than that. For reasons he won’t divulge, he was exiled from Cardassia, and sometimes he isn’t as good at hiding how much he misses his beloved homeworld as he would like.  


You remember when you told me about the “greys” of existence when I visited a few years ago? As far as I can tell, Elim has lived his whole life in the greys. He’s very evasive about his past, but from what I’ve been able to piece together, I gather he’s had a difficult and shadowy life. He is by far the most interesting person I have ever met, though. He is very charming and has a wonderfully dry sense of humor. He can weave the most enthralling stories; some that make you laugh hard enough to cry, and others that send a shiver up your spine. He seems to have seen and done everything, and has an opinion about it which he will share — as long as you can read between the lines. He is the most intelligent person I have ever met, and I feel like I learn something from him every time we talk. I flatter myself that he learns a few things from me, too.  


Elim introduced himself during my first week here… just sat down at the table I was at and started talking to me in riddles. I was very intrigued. I’d heard so many rumors about the “Cardassian spy” that I admit I ended up making a fool of myself to all my fellow-officers, telling them that all the Federation’s secrets were safe with me and that maybe I should be put under surveillance. Looking back at how I carried on is very embarrassing. But as it turned out, maybe tracking me wasn’t such a bad idea after all, because for purposes of his own, Elim had chosen me as his “contact” in the Federation. And I’m glad he did — for many reasons. Professionally, he has guided us through some very sensitive situations; but his assistance is always on his own terms. He loves Cardassia, and he would never do anything to jeopardize the security of his homeland — even if it cost him his own life.  


More than the aid he has provided to us politically, though, I am glad he contacted me because he’s ended up being the person I am closest to here on the station. After our initial meeting, we started seeing each other about once a week for lunch. We sort of made it our personal goals to expose each other to our respective cultures. We talk a lot about politics and philosophy. He loves to challenge my beliefs and ideals, (he teases me a lot), but I always end up thinking about things in a new way after we’ve talked. In that, he is a bit like you as well. I can credit both of you with helping my worldview grow and mature to be more encompassing and not just strictly based on Federation principles.  


It is especially through written works that we’ve really gotten to know each other, though. I’ll be honest, I am not all that enthusiastic when he gives me Cardassian repetitive epics to read, but he is well versed in works from many different cultures, and he has introduced me to literature and poetry from around the quadrant that I wouldn’t have normally come in contact with. I’ve done my best to return the favor, and while he often finds Terran literature to be “sentimental” (a sort of unforgivable crime in his book), I feel I have helped him to better understand humans and our ways.  


So every week, for over two years, we’d meet and talk about literature over lunch, and it was very enjoyable. Then he got very sick. Without going into too much detail, his former — I guess you could say “employer” — put him in a position where he almost died. It was a very difficult time for both of us. He is an extremely private man, and he wouldn’t even admit that there was a problem until he was almost past hope of recovery. And when I got too close, he lashed out. I wasn’t surprised. Knowing what I did about him, and about Cardassian secrecy in general, it was fairly obvious that he wouldn’t react well to my “meddling.” But it hurt — more than I cared to admit. Yet, as you know, I’m tenacious, and through some rather unorthodox methods, I was able to save his life.  


It was when he was sick that I began to truly realize what he meant to me.  


So why am I telling you all this? Well… I thought that writing it all out would be a little easier than actually verbally saying it, but it’s still pretty tough. And because the books you gave me played a role in what happened, I wanted to tell you before I made any decisions. So here goes:  


Elim has asked me to enjoin with him.  


There. It’s out.  


About six months ago we started seeing each other outside of our usual lunches. Our first, I guess you could call it “date,” was when he dropped by my quarters and we smoked shisha together. We talked about _The Thousand and One Nights_ , and I introduced him to the rest of the books from your care package. We started seeing each other more frequently, and before I knew it, well…  


I never imagined that I’d fall in love with a man, let alone an older Cardassian man. And I never in a million years thought he would feel the same way about me. It has been a strange experience.  


When Elim proposed, I told him I needed some time to think, and we agreed that I could have six months to decide. That was almost five months ago. While I love him, it is big decision, and I have some concerns. Most of my coworkers don’t even know that we’ve been dating — I wanted to tell everyone as soon as we started seeing each other, but like I said, Elim is very secretive, and he said he didn’t want to risk damaging my friendships or my career. To some extent I agreed with him, but I’ve done some research, and according to the governing laws of the Federation, it would be an actionable offense for anyone to try and damage my career just because I was involved romantically with someone…even if they are originally from a hostile government. As long as I uphold my oath of loyalty to Starfleet (which of course I would), it appears I would be safe from any professional repercussions.  


In terms of my friendships, Jadzia (the joined Trill I mentioned earlier) has become my closest confidante. I used to have a serious crush on her, but now we’re just really good friends, and she is the only one of my fellow officers who knows that I am dating Elim. We’ve talked a lot, and she always assures me that people here wouldn’t hold our love against me. I really want to believe her. And it’s getting to the point that even if my fellow officers can’t handle our relationship, I’m not sure I care. I love Elim, and I don’t want to hide it.

I have tried to convince Elim that I don’t care what everyone thinks, but he is insistent that we maintain that we are only friends when we’re in public. He won’t even let us have lunch together every day because he things people would start to talk. He says he is afraid my fellow-officers will not respect me anymore if they know we are 

romantically involved. But at this point, my colleagues’ opinions aren’t my biggest fear. My real concern is that I still haven’t told Elim… everything.

I’m so afraid that once he learns about what happened, he won’t want anything to do with me. I know what Abee and Ummi said: that they were just trying to help me — but it still hurts so badly sometimes. It is hard to know who I am; and how can I expect someone to love me when I don’t even know who they’re in love with — me or what I was made to be?  


I feel that if I decided to enjoin with Elim, that I would need to tell him the truth. He needs to know that he’s in love with a freak. But I’m afraid that he will reconsider his proposal when he finds out, and then he has my secret. I love him, and I know he loves me. I don’t think he would do anything to harm me, but after a lifetime of hiding, I can’t help but be scared.  


I don’t know what you’ll think when you read this, and I have no idea how Abee and Ummi would take it if I told them. I know that most of the people here would think I’ve lost my mind were I to tell them that I love Elim, but aside from studying medicine, I have never been so sure of anything in my life.  


I’m sure this wasn’t quite the correspondence you expected to get from your nephew, but of anyone in the universe, I like to think that you will understand. If you do have a chance to write me back, please do. I would really appreciate your insight.  


I hope you are well, Khala Famtima. I would love it if you could find your way out here some time. I’d love to show you around, and I’d really like for you to meet Elim. I think you two would rather enjoy debating about the Maqāmah al-simāṭīyah  


Ana ohbek,  


Julian

* * *  
Mila, 

Do you remember that year when the voles made their nest in the study wall? I was very young, and I remember I was so excited to see the litter. Of course I didn’t know that the opened bag of _pr’shat_ in the cupboard had been poisoned, and that there would be no baby voles; I still thought that all of the mysteries of the life cycle would soon be mine to witness.

It was that same rainy season that I walked in on you and Him. I really had no idea what was going on. It would never have occurred to me that I had seen anything I shouldn’t have until I was punished. Of course, once I was locked in the closet, all I could think about was the scene; each detail etched into my memory. It wasn’t until years later that I realized that I had indeed been witness to an aspect of the life cycle that season.  


When Tolan, the man I grew up thinking of as “father,” finally told me the truth, much of what I’d seen finally made sense. Yet even now there is still so much that I don’t understand about you and Him.  


I find that as I contemplate the possibly of partaking in the rite that we discussed a few months ago, I feel extremely unprepared. I don’t know the proper way that one should start a life with another person. I never thought that I would ever be afforded the opportunity.  


During our last conversation, you mentioned the doctor that came to visit Him a little over a year ago. Ever since that foolish young man made his journey to the Arawath colony, I have wondered what, if anything, He told you. I can well imagine what He thought of the doctor — idealistic, arrogant, incredibly naïve. Certainly this young man is all of those things, yet there is so much more to him. He is very intelligent — almost unnaturally so — and certainly more so than the rest of his race. When he laughs, I find that I am unable to resist joining him. And he can be such a mass of contradictions: uncoordinated as a newborn riding hound one minute, graceful and elegant the next — compassionate yet unyielding, playful and stern. These traits have proven to be irresistible to me. Of course, I have always been drawn to contradictions, haven’t I? I suppose it is a result of the nature of my upbringing.  


Even as I write this letter I can practically hear His words condemning my flaws; bemoaning the fact that He should have killed me just as He killed the voles in the study wall. I always was a failure in His eyes. Sentimental; more inclined to “father’s” peaceful life as a gardener than He would have preferred. A disappointment and ultimately a traitor. But I never betrayed Him. I never betrayed Cardassia. And I only hope that you never feel that I betrayed you.  


He is gone, and yet I still feel His presence. Without the proper burial rights, there is a lack of completion. Of course, I would probably not have been able to participate in the rites, anyway, but a marker would have at least been erected; a physical representation that He was no longer watching my every move. A place to, if not make peace, then to at least report back to Him concerning the death of His enemies.  


It is probably for the best that He doesn’t know about the endeavor I am hoping to embark on soon. While I have not received an answer to my proposal, the tea is still fermenting and I have been promised a response before the end of next month.  


If there is one thing I learned from Him, it is that hope is both foolish and dangerous. But, we’ve already established that I am flawed, haven’t we?  


I never thought that I could find peace in exile. Certainly I never imagined finding happiness. While I miss home acutely, I find myself feeling that if I were forced to choose between Cardassia and this young man, my choice would not be so easy as it once was.  
I hope the enclosed dress is to your liking. Perhaps I took some liberties adding the velvet piping, but I thought the color and texture would complement you rather nicely.  


E

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, all mistakes are mine. Apologies for any typos!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bashir and Garak prepare to enter the labyrinth.

Bashir rushed back to his quarters, practically tripping over the station’s ridiculously high thresholds. He could barely contain his excitement. The day was finally over and the evening was about the begin…

He had been looking forward to tonight for what felt like an eternity, and he knew that he wasn’t alone in feeling a bit “pent up.” Ever since the outbreak of Brevarian croup on Bajor, his evenings had been overtaken with finding and perfecting treatments and preparing inoculations. Subsequently, he hadn’t been able to spend a romantic evening with his lover in weeks. But even with the prolonged dry-spell, Garak had not relented on letting them schedule additional lunches. _That damned Cardassian is just too stubborn and paranoid_ Bashir had thought on multiple occasions. 

Since Bashir’s return from the Entara system, Garak had put a limit on how many lunches they shared per week. The tailor had been very emphatic that their time in public together shouldn’t increase too dramatically. _Two lunches a week and no more you insatiable boy,_ his beloved had teasingly insisted.

At first, Bashir had accepted the schedule; he understood that Garak really did fear that the doctor’s fellow officers would ostracize him if they came to know about their relationship. Also, the human had to admit that limiting their time together in public had certain benefits. When their lunches finally did come around, their arguments over literature were just a bit more innuendo-laden, their “accidental” caresses became that much more electrifying, and the covert glances that spoke of desire and love and devotion were even more invigorating and meaningful. And of course, the nights they did get to spend together, the tailor was only too eager to become more intimate again.

But even though Julian tried to acquiesce to Garak’s wishes, he didn’t always let the Cardassian have it all his own way. Usually — with the judicious use of fluttering eyelashes — Julian could finagle at least one extra lunch per week. (After all, just because he was hopelessly in love didn’t mean he was going to just obediently do whatever he was told.)

Now, though, after they’d been seeing each other for the better part of a year, the set schedule and covertness of their relationship was wearing particularly thin. Bashir longed for the simple luxury of holding his lover’s hand as they walked the station. The idea of kissing the Cardassian in greeting at the beginning of daily lunches sent shivers up his spine. And the thought of regularly having dinner outside of their quarters, in public, seemed unbelievably romantic.

Finally arriving at his quarters, Bashir quickly ducked inside. He was supposed to be at Garak’s quarters at 2030, and it was already 1930. He still had to shower (‘fresher, not water since he was pressed for time), had to have a quick bit to eat (just in case dinner had to be delayed due to other more… pressing needs) and figure out what to wear (an outfit that would project just the right amount of “come and get it.”)

As he began stripping off his uniform, he spotted two things. The first was a datarod with a note attached, and he felt his heart skip a beat. The second was a flashing light on his comm panel. It was a message, and according to the sender’s location data, it was from Earth.

His heart froze. While he tried not to let his mind run away with him, the message made him nervous. What if this was it, the message he had dreaded for so many years. _“Dr. Julian Bashir, it has come to our attention that you lied on your application to the Academy and that you are in violation of The United Federation of Planets Constitution Article 23.1.1 which states: “No genetically modified human shall be allowed to practice medicine.” And Starfleet Regulations Article 3.1.1 “No genetically modified individuals shall be admitted to Starfleet nor shall they…”_

He closed his eyes and swallowed with difficulty. He couldn’t deal with the message right now. He needed just a moment, so he picked up the datarod and the note first.

 _Nea Pessa_  
 _Since it seems you have thoroughly succumbed to the bad influences around you, a book of dubious content will hardly make the situation worse._  
 _You would be well advised to only read this book in private. Even though your reactions are delightful, your susceptibility to libidinous suggestion might result in… uncomfortable situations._

In spite of his nervousness, Julian’s smiled when he looked at the datarod: it had been a long time coming. Ever since Garak had first told him about _The Private Labyrinth of Gul Dinset_ Bashir had been very interested in reading it and had asked about it several times. The tailor always insisted, though, that even if he had such a scandalous book in his possession, he would hardly allow the young man’s innocence to be corrupted by it; that it was far from proper reading material for an upstanding person such as himself. While the Cardassian focused his warnings around the book’s lack of respect for the State, subtle comments led the doctor to believe that the book was racy for far more than its philosophical debate on the proper level of devotion to the government.

 _Another gift_ he though as he shook his head. Ever since the beginning of their relationship, Garak had showered him with tokens of affection, and over the past few months, his beloved had taken to sneaking into Julian’s quarters while he was at work and leaving little gifts. A tin of sweet flavored shisha, Delavian chocolates, exotic aftershave, sun-ripened dates, well-tailored pieces of clothing — not every day, but at least a couple times a week, (and always when Julian had a particularly trying day at the infirmary), he could expect to find a little something, even it if was just a hastily written note. They were always left with only the tailor’s meticulous script to identify the giver — as though there was any doubt who was responsible for leaving the items. Yet whenever the doctor brought these sweet gestures up and tried to thank him, Garak would shake his head and complain that the doctor should keep better track of his lovers because “surely he knew a Cardassian would never be so hopelessly romantic.”

Garak’s predisposition to leave gifts after he’d had a tough day, though, now made him even more nervous about the message from Earth. Bashir wasn’t sure how the tailor found things out, but now the doctor wondered if this very special gift was being given to him because the Cardassian had heard something that even the rest of the station didn’t know about yet… What if the tailor had heard that Federation MPs were on their way to relieve him of duty?

Only one way to find out. With a heavy heart and a shaking hand, Bashir reached out to access his message. When the specific location of origin flashed and he saw who it was from, his eyes widened, but he became only marginally less nervous.

  
Ibn okht  
 _Received your letter, but do not feel that a text response will suffice. Am making my way to the city center to access subspace communication. Much concerned about some of the implications you wrote to me about. I will be contacting you at 2000 hours your time._  
Khala Fatima

Julian deflated. _Oh gods._ Yes, he felt relief that the message wasn’t from Starfleet, but the terse missive from his aunt was ominous. And the idea that she was breaking the rules of her community to talk to him via subspace made him even more anxious. He could only imagine what she was thinking: older Cardassian male pursuing naïve human Starfleet officer… surely he was up to no good. Hadn’t Julian thought the exact same thing when Garak had first introduced himself?

Julian groaned. He had hoped that his aunt of all people would be more accepting of their love.

He looked at the chronometer. 1940. Sigh. As much as it killed him, he just didn’t feel he could meet with his lover _and_ deal with his aunt’s subpace communication in the same night. He tapped out the channel to the tailor’s quarters. Better to get it over with.

“Bashir to Garak”

The Cardassian’s face appeared on the screen and Julian nearly melted when he saw that his lover was wearing his favorite silver suit. “Good evening, doctor.” Even over the comm, the delicious purr in the tailor’s voice made the doctor’s stomach flip. He tried to keep it from showing on his face, but by the hungry smile that Garak flashed him, he knew that the aroused look in his eyes had shown through clearly.

Bashir bent close to the screen. “Do you think this channel is secure enough?”

Garak chuckled. “Depends on what secrets you plan on divulging, my dear.”

The words sobered the human slightly, but he continued: “Nothing too illicit, just that I think someone sneaked into my quarters and left… _pornography._ ” He whispered the last word, his eyes dancing.

“Oh my. What depraved soul could possibly have done such a thing?” The innocent look on the tailor’s face was priceless… and hilariously unconvincing.

Bashir lifted his eyebrows “The kind of depraved soul that I’m hoping will follow-up the written word with physical re-enactments.”

“I’m sure they could be persuaded.”

Bashir sighed. “I’m glad, but considering what a lengthy tome it appears to be, I think that I will have to cancel dinner tonight.” He tilted his head in the coy way that he knew Garak was particularly susceptible to. “Sorry.” 

The look on the Cardassian’s face was initially incredulous, then just a touch desperate. “Might I ask if everything is alright?”

Julian smiled in what he hoped was a convincing way. “Everything is fine. I just feel like having a quiet night in, curled up with a good book.”

Garak sat there stunned for a second, but finally nodded. “Of course, my dear. If your change your mind…”

“I’ll let you know. But we’re still on for lunch Thursday?” 

“I’m looking forward to it.” Garak said, his piercing blue eyes lingering on the doctor’s face for a moment before he signed off.

Bashir collapsed back into his chair. He had been afraid that Garak would press him for the real reason he was canceling their dinner plans. He knew that the Cardassian wouldn’t buy his excuse, especially considering how much they had both been looking forward to their evening together — but he wasn’t quite prepared to let his lover know that he had told his aunt about their relationship. Not yet.

Bashir shook his head and looked at the clock. It was already 1950, and his aunt would be calling in 10 minutes. He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a quick bite to eat from the replicator. By the time he was finished, Fatima’s call was coming through.

It had been almost four years since he had last seen his aunt, and when her face appeared, he felt a momentary twist of his heart. There, before him on the screen, was the face of one of the few stable elements of his young life. His father was always moving his family around, and his mother was resigned to their nomadic life. So the only two facets in the young Jules Bashir’s life that provided some semblance of normalcy was Fatima…and Kukulaka.

“Julian,umri, you continue to grow more handsome each time I see you.”

Bashir blushed a little at the verbal equivalent of his aunt pinching his cheek. “Thank you, Khala Fatima.” He paused. “I can’t believe I’m speaking to you.”

His aunt smiled. “I know. I feel a bit strange about it, too. It has been many years since I used this kind of technology.”

“The community was alright with you using subspace?”

His aunt shrugged. “The community understands that sometimes exceptions have to be made. Thankfully I don’t think they will cast me out for simply talking to my precious little nephew.” She waved her hand as though erasing her previous words. “Sorry. You are not so little anymore. In fact, it seems you are even more grown up than I would have guessed.”

Bashir bit his bottom lip. _Here is where it begins_ , he thought. “It’s easy to age more quickly our here, I guess.”

She nodded. “Julian, about your letter…”

The doctor felt a swell of panic. “Please, Khala Fatima, if only you could meet Elim, I really think that you would like him. He is not at all like what you would think. He’s nothing like what most people think Cardassians are like and…” 

His aunt stared at him blankly as he rambled on, but then her face slowly transformed; her mouth puckered and her brow creased. She cut him off. “Jules, I am a little hurt by your assumptions. It is not your choice in partners that has me concerned. It’s that your letter made it sound as though you were thinking of just eloping in this Cardassian practice without even letting your family know! And what about your own heritage, Jules? Have you so completely forgotten about your own culture and upbringing that you are not going to incorporate some human traditions as well if you decide to join your life with his? You are not a practicing Muslim, so I wouldn’t presume to pressure you to include those traditions, but there should be at leastsome observance of where you come from. And what is this nonsense about you agreeing to only see him when _he_ thinks it’s appropriate? What about your desires, Julian? Does he not care what you think or want?”

The doctor blinked. This was not at all how he thought this conversation would go. “You mean you’re OK with me dating Elim? With possibly enjoining with him?”

Fatima rolled her eyes. “Oh Julian, if there is one thing I have learned, it is that love is one of the few universals. Perhaps if you had ever _read_ any of my xeno-comparative psychology papers you would have picked up on that viewpoint. What does it matter if he is from Cardassia and that you are from Earth? Or that there is a difference in your ages? The only thing that matters is that you make each other happy. Which is why I am calling instead of writing. I needed to see for myself if you were _really_ happy.”

Bashir suddenly felt relief beyond measure, and then hurried on to assure her. “I am very happy.” In fact, without a doubt, Julian had never been happier than he was with Garak. Even though hiding his feelings in public nettled him, he was habitually surprised at how affectionate and caring his lover was. The tenderness of the tailor’s touch, the sweetness in his voice when he spoke endearments in his mother tongue, and the unguarded fondness in his intense blue gaze were all part of what made Julian feel so loved… and in love.

She looked at him shrewdly, then nodded once. “Alright. I believe you are.” The corners of her mouth turned up. “Now we have much to discuss and I only have this channel for a short time. But first things first: tell me what Elim thought about _A Thousand and One Nights_. I need to know what kind of man my sweet little nephew has fallen in love with. And what better way is there to learn about a person than through their taste in literature? 

* * * 

Garak swirled his glass of rokassa juice. His mind had not been easy since Bashir had canceled their dinner date three days ago. It was obvious that there were reasons other than reading _The Private Labyrinth of Gul Dinset_ that had kept the young man from dining with him, and his very active imagination was running overtime.

As the months had gone by, the tailor’s affection for the young man had grown to the point where he didn’t care to even remember what his life had been like before. But whether the same could be said of the doctor’s feelings for him, he wasn’t sure. Everything seemed to be going so well, yet now with the cancellation, his doubts resurfaced and it made him very uncomfortable.

With the exceptions of Palandine and Barkan, he had never partnered with people that he had a deep emotional attachment to — and after the disastrous results of those affairs, he felt even more unsure of his judgment in such matters. The voice that whispered of inevitable loss came back, reminding him that surely this whole relationship was a bad idea.

He feared that Bashir was just delaying the inevitable; waiting until the last minute before his promised response to Garak’s proposal to break off their relationship. After all, surely the novelty of a Cardassian lover would wear off, and what on Prime could the young man really see in an old exile like him besides novelty?

Now that Bashir had canceled one date, the Cardassian couldn’t help but worry that his lover had finally come to his senses. He had spent the last three days trying to galvanize his emotions in preparation of more cancelations, and an eventual return to his lonely existence.

Yet there had been no further cancelations, and there, as he looked up from his drink, was the doctor bounding up the steps of the replimat. Garak’s heart lifted just a little.

“Good afternoon, Garak.”

The greeting felt so formal. The Cardassian assumed a neutral facial expression. “Good afternoon, doctor. I hope your day is going well.”

“I can’t complain.” 

Garak felt his stomach clench. This wasn’t at all how their lunches tended to start. Usually the doctor would say how his day had gotten better as soon as he stepped into the replimat. Or depending on when the last time they had seen each other, Julian might make some snippy remark about the tailor’s strictness in sticking to their schedule. After the preamble, though, their lunches quickly became a sweet torture for the Cardassian: the young man testing the boundaries of how far Garak would let him go in public, their conversations just short of ribald.

“I’m sorry again about canceling our dinner the other night.” 

Garak looked at him dryly. “Sorry enough to reschedule for tonight?” 

Bashir shook his head. “I can’t. I already have plans.”

The Cardassian’s unease continued to grow. “I see.” 

“Give me a couple of days. I’ll contact you and let you know when I’m free next.” 

Garak nodded and tried to keep his facial expression placid, but memories of a certain fateful day around eight months before came to his mind. He and the doctor in his shop. The young man agitated. The Cardassian convinced that Bashir was going to end their friendship entirely. Then reprieve: a fateful invitation to dinner and then…

The tailor jumped when he felt the doctor’s hand on his knee, the warmth from the human’s touch spreading through the rest of his body. He looked up into his beloved’s face. _Oh_ The Cardassian was very familiar with that look: lust and defiance. His pulse quickened. _Oh, is that what all this has been about? Are we playing games again my dear?_ he thought. A wave of relief washed over him. The boy never ceased to challenge and surprise him… and he loved it. 

“When you cancelled the other night, I began to think you were tiring of my company,” he said with feigned nonchalance, hoping the honesty in his words wouldn’t show through.

“What a foolish thing to think,” Bashir said and shook his head. “My dear Mr. Garak, you should know by now that having lunch with you is one of my favorite activities.” His hand traced lazy circles on the Cardassian’s knee. “Though perhaps you should agree to see me more often — it seems someone else is trying to get my attention.”

Garak slitted his eyes. “Is that so?” 

Bashir nodded. “You know how I’ve mentioned thatsomeone leaves gifts in my quarters for me to find?”

The tailor tilted his head in acknowledgement.

The doctor’s eyes twinkled. “And you deny having anything to do with it?” 

The Cardassian smiled. “Yes…”

“Well, it seems that this mystery person is becoming more forward. Like I mentioned the other night, they left some reading material in my quarters. The type of reading material that makes me think they want more than mere friendship… ”

Garak raised his eye ridges: thrilled and strategizing. 

The young man’s fingers traveled insistently up Garak’s leg. “Truth is: I think I might have a full-fledged secret admirer.” 

Garak inhaled deeply. “I am given to understand those are the most dangerous types of admirers.”

Bashir batted his eyelashes. “Do you think my virtue is in peril?”

“I fear it may be, my dear.” 

“It’s a shame. They seems to know me so well. If only they would come out publicly, who knows what delights we could share?”

It was familiar territory, and Garak sighed. “Yet being too much in the public eye could pose serious risks to you, depending on the identity of your admirer.” 

Bashir shook his head. “The problem is: I’m not interested in a _secret_ admirer. I want to be able to show my lover exactly what they mean to me, no matter where we are or who might be watching.”

“Perhaps if you read more of the book that was left in your quarters, you would understand your admirer’s reticence.” 

Bashir smiled, his hand still lingering on the Cardassian’s leg, fingertips tracing light patterns against the fabric of his pants. “Oh, so you think the book was meant as a warning rather than just a catalyst to get me hard and wanting?”

“I think it is a distinct possibility that your admirer intended both ends.”

“Hm. Well, while I haven’t finished reading it, I’ll admit that the narrative does seem to have certain parallels to my own life: a young Glinn, fresh from his military studies, catches the eye of a prominent Gul, and the older man begins to groom him… for activities not quite in keeping with standard Cardassian practices.”

“Really?” Garak said, his voice drawling the word. Yet again the young man was pushing the boundaries. Surely the dear boy wasn’t going to start discussing the _Labyrinth_ in the replimat

“Yes,” Bashir said, his voice dropping to the very limit of the Cardassian’s hearing. He leaned over the table. “The note that came with the datarod suggested that I only read it in private. I am glad there was a warning, too, or else I might have been tempted to read it in the infirmary when it wasn’t busy — which would have been terribly embarrassing. You see, it’s very… intense. In fact, I haven’t gotten nearly as far in the book as I normally would have because I have to take so many breaks.”

“My dear doctor. One wonders why you would even continue to read such prurient texts.”

“Oh, but I am just an impressionable youth. How could I even hope to resist falling into such a trap?” Bashir’s fingernails scratched at the inside of the tailor’s thighs. Garak closed his eyes trying to keep control. “Anyway, it’s such an interesting departure from all of the other Cardassian literature I’ve read, so I feel there is some redeeming academic importance if nothing else.”

“Yet you said that the book questions full devotion to the state. That, coupled with meaningless sex…” he let his words trail off, hoping that the young man would argue with him.

He was not disappointed. “Oh, no. It’s hardly meaningless. The romance that is developing between the two characters is not only deep but rather touching. Which is another way this book stands out from other pieces of Cardassian literature. In most Cardassian books, the characters’ romances are either metaphors for their love of the State and tend to be added almost as an afterthought; or their affairs are depicted as being disastrous because it distracts from their love for Cardassia. Peltor, on the other hand, writes from a much more, dare I say “Federation,” viewpoint: that the love of the State is an unhealthy distraction from the characters’ love and desire for each other.”

“But what is the result of their affair? Any good citizen of the Union knows their true place is subordinate to the good of the State, and that to place personal love above Cardassia is folly,” Garak said, distressed at how breathy his voice was.

“Like I said, I haven’t gotten very far in the book yet, but so far Peltor has gone to great lengths to show that, as the characters get closer and closer to entering the labyrinth together — which is his metaphor for departing from a wholly Cardassia-centered existance— they become aware of what is really important to them. As they spend more time together, they realize that their relationship is different from anything they have ever experienced before. For instance, the first time that Gul Dinset kisses Glinn Pretal, the author explains that it is not the first time that the Glinn had been propositioned by an older man in a position of authority. Yet he hastily explains that there _is_ something different in the way the Gul touches him: “With hands that did not seek to possess, he claimed the young man. With lips which had spoken oaths of loyalty to Legates and the Union, the Gul spoke a new pledge: “This one, I will serve. This one, will I honor with my blood and my fealty. My liege in all things.””

Garak’s breath was shallow and quick. Neither man had touched their lunches. “Sounds like sentimental nonsense,” he managed to choke out.

“Perhaps, but very intriguing. And aside from a few overwritten passages, the prose is multi-faceted and interconnected. For instance, the first time that Dinset offers to take his protégé into the labyrinth, he explains that he had invited many promising young men to explore its depths, but had never met one that offered the same level of promise as Pretal. That he had never been with anyone that he would even consider taking to the very center of the maze. The night he decides that Pretal is the one that he is willing to make the journey with, they had been debating the underlying meaning of Ulnac Grem’s poetry, and the author writes the passage as if the Gul is referring to the promise of stimulating conversation. Yet the description interspersed with their dialogue is very… personal. Dinset notices that the color of the Glinn’s neck scales remind him of the color of the lake he used to swim in when he was a youth. There is, of course, the obvious sexual connotation; that he wants to immerse himself in the young man — but the lake is mentioned several other places in the book and represents a time when he was free to make his own choices — before the machinery of the State took control of his life. While he can’t bring himself to admit it yet, he longs for a life where he isn’t a Gul; where he is free to do and feel however he wishes.

For his own part, Glinn Pretal sees the situation from the opposite angle, but with a similar result. He looks into the shining metal of the Gul’s uniform, and notes that he can “see himself in it” but that his reflection is warped and untrue. The desire for power and prestige that he’s had for so many years is shown suddenly as something almost grotesque. A mockery of who he really is. The passage continues by having the Glinn thinking that he would rather see the Gul _out_ of his uniform. A bit laughable in terms of erotic prose… but the passage gains more meaning when taken in context. Earlier in the book, Pretal resents having to engage in trysts with superior officers, but sees them as a necessary means to an end: the advancement of his career. Yet his feelings slowly change as he gets to know Dinset. Where other Guls and Legates had taken him without regard, Gul Dinset actually listens to him and engages with him. By the point in the book where they are about to enter the labyrinth, and he makes his observation about the armor, he has slowly begun to realize that he sees Dinset as more than a means to an end, and that even though the Gul has introduced him to some ideas that make him uneasy, he is reaching the point where he doesn’t care about the implications. Because of their connection, he realizes that he will follow wherever the Gul leads him. Not because he wants to please him to garner favor, but because he wants Dinset to be happy. He wants to see Dinset outside of the role the superior officer; out of his uniform. And for all of his aspirations to power and glory, the Glinn wonders if it wouldn’t be more rewarding for both of them to eschew the military and instead simply descend into the labyrinth together.

With difficulty, Garak had to remind himself to breathe. He knew the passage Julian was talking about very well. Many of their conversations over the years had reminded him of that part of the book. The two men balanced on the precipice; unsure exactly where the other stood. Wanting, desiring; about to take the first step into the labyrinth — unsure of the final destination or the implications of their feelings. The philosophical prose quickly leading to one of the most erotic scenes in the entire book.

The Cardassian closed his eyes as he felt the young man’s fingers trace the ridgeline of his erection. “Perhaps we might discuss this at another time?” the tailor managed to say.

“Wasn’t it you who taught me meals were the ideal venue for stimulating… discussion?”

“My dear. Please.”

“You don’t like not being in control of a situation.”

Garak grit his teeth. “Most people like to be in control, Julian.”

“Then can you blame me for wanting a measure of control myself?”

“No.” He sighed, closing his eyes as a particularly intense wave of pleasure ran through his body. With determination, he fixed the young man with a heated glare. “But I _will_ blame you if you unman me in the replimat.” 

Bashir smiled. “Then if you want to prevent that outcome, I want a concession.” 

The Cardassian’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What type of concession?” 

“I haven’t decided yet, but when I ask for it, I want you to keep my… generosity… in mind.” 

“I don’t like the sounds of this.” He gasped as Bashir gave a squeeze... It really wasn’t fair. Their relationship had gotten him used to regular sexual activity, and after their canceled dinner, his body was particularly sensitive. The worst part was that he could easily see that the doctor knew only too well how close he was. Oh, the young man would pay for this. “Alright, I promise that I will keep this in mind when you ask for your concession.” _Will I ever_ he thought. 

Bashir smiled and slowly removed his hand from the Cardassian’s lap. “Like I said, I haven’t finished the book, but I am hoping Dinset and Pretal are brave enough to enter the labyrinth together. No matter what the consequences.”

The doctor’s expression was so intense, and Garak felt himself melt. Too soon, the moment ended though, and the human smiled ruefully. “Is that really the time?” He stood up slowly, looking intently into Garak’s eyes and directing his glance down. The tailor swallowed. The young man was every bit as aroused as he was and the doctor seemed to be reveling in his own audacity and the Cardassian’s heated gaze. Garak quickly looked around to see if anyone had seen anything. Bashir smiled, even if he did look a bit nervous, and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “And what would you have done had someone been watching?” Picking up his tray of uneaten food with one hand, the doctor obscured his prominent erection. “I can’t believe my lunch hour is already over. And I didn’t even get to eat anything. I guess I’ll just have to take this back to the infirmary with me.” Reaching out with his other hand, he squeezed the tailor’s neck ridge, rubbed it, sending a shiver through the Cardassian’s entire body. “It was a pleasure as always… Elim.” 

Garak watched Bashir as he walked through the doors of the replimat towards the infirmary, still holding his tray. Debating the best course of action, the tailor finally settled on following the doctor’s lead. Picking up his tray and holding it discretely, he walked towards his store and quickly secured the locks.

Setting the tray down on his worktable, he retired to the back room. 

Oh,yes. He would make the young man pay for that little scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not Beta'd, so apologies are made for my typos!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian experiences déjà vu and calls in his concession. Garak reflects on the bizarreness of the universe and a strange emotional state he thinks might be called "happiness."
> 
> Caution: fluff, romance, and excessive sentimentality ahead! And its all downhill from here. You have been warned!

Bashir had an eerie feeling of déjà vu as he crossed the promenade to the tailor’s shop. The fluttering in the pit of his stomach, the uncertainty. Eight months ago he had made this same nerve-wracking journey — torn between ending his association with the Cardassian entirely and escalating their relationship. Unlike the last time, however, he now had a clarity of purpose. This time he knew exactly what he wanted. 

He had talked to his aunt two other times since her first subspace call, and their conversations had only reinforced the strength of his feelings. She had given him a lot to think about, and ultimately had helped him come up with his plan of action.

It wasn’t one of the lovers' prearranged days to meet, and he anticipated that Garak wouldn’t be pleased with him breaking the schedule. But he _had_ told Garak at their last lunch he would contact him with information on when they could next get together for dinner. 

The journey from the infirmary to the tailor’s shop felt like it took forever, (even though a person could practically throw a tribble from one location to the other), but when he finally arrived, Bashir simply stood outside for a moment and watched as the tailor showed some fabric to an Endorian couple. Even engaged in mundane activities, the Cardassian took the human’s breath away. The easy way he moved; the playful customer-service veneer that hid such intensity and passion. The sparkle in his eye that was a constant reminder of his keen wit and intelligence. After a moment, the Cardassian shot him a heated glance and the doctor felt like he had been caught red-handed. With what he knew was an exceedingly guilty look on his face, Bashir quickly stepped in and busied himself at one of the clothing displays, not really concentrating on his actions or the fabric in his hands. He knew he needed to keep it together, and felt that he just needed to do something with his hands. 

It hadn’t been easy forcing himself to be excessively forward during their last lunch; but he had done it for a reason... well, multiple reasons, he supposed… but the main impetus was that he wanted to prepare his lover for what was coming. He had reached the end of his patience with their covertness, and he knew it was time. 

Still absentmindedly picking up pieces of clothing — and casting glances at his beloved — he tried to mentally prepare himself to be witty and sophisticated.

“Good afternoon, doctor,” the Cardassian said, suddenly at Bashir’s side. “Are you looking at that for a lady friend or for yourself?”

Startled, the young CMO dropped the red lace teddy he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. “Um,” he stammered, quickly looking around the store feeling decidedly un-witty and thoroughly un-sophisticated.

Garak’s voice sounded amused, and just a touch husky. “Not to worry, my dear, I’m not as brazen as you were at our last lunch: there’s no one here.” He stepped closer. “And I am pleased to see you… even if it _isn’t_ one of our scheduled days to meet.”

Though Julian was taller than the other man, he tilted his head and cast warm amber eyes up at his lover. “I needed to see you,” he said quietly.

The low growl in the Cardassian’s chest never ceased to give the doctor shivers. “Mmm. Well who am I to argue with necessity?” Garak took hold of the teddy and held it up to Bashir, a look of amused appraisal on his face. “Once again, my dear, your unerring ability to choose the worst color for you astounds me. Now, this, on the other hand…” He held a black corset up against the young man’s chest, the garters hitting the tops of his thighs. “…this is much better.”

“Elim,” the doctor said, a mixture of warning and humor coloring his words. He quickly pulled the corset out of his lover’s hands. “What happened to keeping up appearances in public?”

The tailor shrugged. “Oh, had anyone heard, I doubt they would have thought anything of it. Just one more instance of the nefarious Cardassian spy attempting to unnerve the young Starfleet CMO with innuendo. Quite successfully, I might add. Plus, I have no doubt that more than a few individuals on this station would be very pleased to see you in such an ensemble.” His eyes darted around the shop to once again make sure they were alone, then the tailor extended a hand and they touched palms. “If you are coming to ask me to lunch, my answer is no. I can overlook you breaking the rules by coming to my store, and I can _almost_ forgive you for the little stunt you pulled last week, but another unscheduled trip to the replimat is simply unacceptable, and a risk I’m not willing to take just yet.”

Bashir rolled his eyes, suddenly more exasperated than nervous. “Well, Allah forbid we break with the schedule... but that isn’t why I’m here anyways.”

“Then why, my love?” Obscured by the clothing display, the Cardassian’s knee insinuated itself between the young man’s thighs, and Garak’s smile became sharp.

_Oh._ Bashir’s mind went blank as the provocative movements focused his attention between his legs. _Abort plan._ his mental emergency backup system called. _This isn’t going to work. Not here, not now. Reschedule!_ When he finally opened his mouth his words were breathy. “I just wanted to see if you were available to come to my quarters tonight.”

The glint in the Cardassian’s eyes did nothing to calm his young lover. “Have I ever declined an invitation to your quarters?”

“No. But I have some… _gasp_ … things I need to tell you and I… _oh_ … I just wanted to make sure you’d be there.”

The Cardassian raised an eye ridge, shifting till he connected with the doctor’s blossoming erection and giving a predatory grin. “Something that you can’t tell me here? You know how I detest surprises.”

Bashir rallied in spite of his lover’s continued ministrations. “ _Well_ , I _would_ have considered telling you in the replimat, but since you are so vehement about not going to lunch today….” He stepped back a bit and away from the teasing, willing his body to calm down.

Garak looked pleased. “Your penchant for cruelty continues to grow. As was very much in evidence the other day. Perhaps I _have_ been a good influence on you.”

“The best,” Bashir whispered, and to hell with it, he leaned in and caught the Cardassian’s lips in a heated kiss. The familiar stirrings of passion coursed through his body and suddenly the already warmer-than-normal shop felt like a furnace.

“Ahem.”

The tailor’s posture stiffened and he drew back immediately. Bashir, for his own part, felt equally unnerved at the sudden interruption, but quickly relaxed when he looked up and saw that it was Dax standing in the doorway. Her smile was radiating smugness, and he felt his cheeks blush even more than they already were. “Well, here you are, doctor.”

“Jadzia,” the doctor acknowledged her, pulling away from the tailor, but maintained his position behind the clothing display to hide the evidence of Garak’s teasing. “Um.. hi.. ah, what can I do for you?”

She tilted her head coyly. “Well, I was going to see if you wanted to have lunch, but if you already have other plans…”

Bashir took a deep breath and worked on his composure. With skills that he hoped the Cardassian would be proud of, he layered a look of playful nonchalance onto his face. “Actually, Garak here was just telling me how he wouldn’t be joining me for lunch today. And thank goodness, too, since I would much rather go with you,” he said, shooting a challenging glance at his lover. “It will be quite a treat, in fact. It’s so nice to be a bit more spontaneous than only meeting on a prearranged schedule.” He had to admit that he felt a slight shiver of fear at the glare the tailor gave him. As soon as he was sure that his physical appearance wouldn’t inspire a charge of indecent exposure, he quickly walked over to Dax and took her arm. “Some other time, then, Garak,” he said over his shoulder. 

The Trill stumbled a little trying to match his pace. “I’m glad you were free today. After that look Garak gave you, I can’t help but feel this might be my last chance to have lunch with you at all.” 

He laughed a bit nervously. “Yes, well, if I don’t make it in for duty tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

“Well, I already had a few ideas as to why you’ve been late to a couple of shifts these past few months, but after seeing you two, I have an even better idea now.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye and he felt his cheeks turning rosy again. They grabbed their lunches from the replicators. “You know, if you keep displays like that up, it won’t be long before other people start catching you _in flagrante_.” 

“Yes, well if everything goes according to plan, we won’t have to be discrete for much longer.” He said as they sat down at a table — _not_ the one he always shared with Garak.

The Trill rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I think I heard something similar months ago.”

His look was earnest. “Well, this time I mean it.” He bit his lip. “I’m going to talk to him about it tonight.”

“A “your way or the highway” type of conversation?”

“In a way.” Just thinking about his plans set his heart racing. “He asked me a question a few months ago and I finally have an answer for him.”

She fixed him with an inquisitive stare. “What was the question?”

“He asked me to partake in a Cardassian ritual with him. An enjoining ritual.”

“Oh,” she said, and then slowly her blank look gave way to wide-eyed wonder and excitement. “Oh! And?”

He ducked his head. “And I’m going to tell him that I can’t enjoin with him.” 

“But…!”

His eyes peeped out from under dark lashes, appraising her disappointed expression. He cut off her protests“…at least, not unless he can make certain concessions.”

“Which are?” she prompted, her patience beginning obviously to wear thin.

Reaching into an inner pocket, he pulled out a little box and handed it to her. She snatched it from his hand and opened it. “Oh Julian,” she said, her eyes going even wider. “Where on Trill did you get this?” She hefted the ring in her palm, peering closely at the fine detail around the silver band and rubbing her thumb over the jet black stone in the center.

He smiled at the Trillian colloquialism. “Not Trill. Earth. Yemen, to be exact.” 

“But these designs look Cardassian.” She raised her eyebrows. “And is that stone obsidian?” She raised her eyebrows.

“It’s onyx, actually. I had originally wanted to get a ring with a blue stone, but when my aunt sent me a picture of this one, I knew it was the ring I wanted to give him…” his stomach did a little flip “…when I asked him to marry me.”

“Oh!” She looked about ready to burst with excitement. 

“I didn’t just want to do the Cardassian enjoining ceremony. For one thing, it would have had to remain private between us. I didn’t want that. I want him to know that I don’t care if other people don’t approve of our relationship. I love him and I want everyone to know. And, my aunt made me realize that our joining should represent both of our cultures. So, I’m going to ask him to marry me… incorporating Terran traditions.” He bit his lip. “I started filling out the Federation paperwork last night.”

She bit her lip. “You know, Julian, Garak’s never been all that shy about his disdain for the Federation. Do you think he’d agree to get married under their jurisdiction?”

He sighed. He had thought about the very real possibility that his lover wouldn’t be crazy about being a Federation citizen through marriage. “Oh, he’ll object at first. He’ll whine and moan about how what I’m asking for is unreasonable. How it would be antithetical to the Cardassian ethos to even appear to publicly align himself with an “enemy.” He’ll use every bit of his charm to get me to do what he wants. But, the other day I convinced him to give me a “concession” and if he persists, I am going to call in my marker.” p>

She burst out laughing. “How manipulative!”

Bashir smiled. “I know, but he really won’t have any room to complain. After all, I learned all these tricks by watching him.”

She smiled at him fondly. “I am really very happy for you Julian.” She laid a hand over his, a gesture that would have had him stammering and stuttering when he first arrived on the station, but now just made him feel happy to have such a supportive friend.

After a few minutes, her eyes started to twinkle. “And what about the wedding? Have you thought about what you want?” Her face lit up. “Oh, oh… I know. You two should have a James Bond themed wedding!”

Bashir grimaced. “Oh, yeah, I can just imagine what Elim would have to say about that. I think it is safe to say there won’t be any “themes.””

“Oh, you’re no fun!” Dax laughed. “Well, if I ever get married, I want a big wedding. Lavish and over-the-top. And a bachelorette party that would make your head spin.”

“How come I’m not surprised?” Bashir joined her laughter.

The Trill continued. “Oh, I’ve put a lot of thought into it. Ever since I was a little girl, I dreamed about what my wedding would be like… I guess a lot of children do.”

Julian nodded. “I remember when I was six, a cousin of mine got married. I didn’t really fully understand what was going on, but I was the ring-bearer, and they dressed me in a suit with a bow tie. I felt so important. It seemed like the most amazing thing in the world. All of your friends and family coming to celebrate you and the person that you love. Like a birthday party but bigger, where everyone had to dress up. And the cake. At the reception I had been totally in awe of the cake, and I thought how amazing it would be to have So. Much. Cake. I thought it was like a lifetime’s worth. I remember going home and trying to draw what I wanted my wedding cake to look like. I remember it involved a lot of curly bits of frosting. It was three-tiered with little columns holding up the different layers. Oh, I drew fancy three-tiered cakes for days afterwards.”

Dax giggled. “That’s adorable.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, my mom thought so, too. I remember her showing one of the drawings to a girlfriend I had years later.”

She regarded him with a more subdued air. “Do your parents know about Garak?”

Bashir cleared his throat and looked awkward. “Not yet. We don’t talk much.”

She squeezed his hand comfortingly. “Well. You’ll have all your friends here to attend your wedding.”

“Yeah, about that...” He grimaced again. 

“Oh no. You’re not just eloping. I won’t hear of it.”

“Really, Jadzia, can you imagine how some of the staff are going to react to this news? It’s going to be bad enough when I have to tell them that we’ve been dating for almost a year and that we’re getting married, but can you imagine how they’d react if I invited them to a wedding ceremony?”

“Like I’ve said all along, Julian. We’re your friends. We care about you. I’ve had so many people badgering me for information about your “secret” sweetheart,” she held up a hand at his slightly panicked look. “…and even though I don’t tell them anything, they all agree that they have never seen you happier. In fact, more than a couple people have speculated that you would be sharing some happy news before too long. There’s even a betting pool at Quarks.”

“Nothing like building up people’s expectations,” he grumbled.

“Well, it’s your own fault. And Garak’s. If you both had just been open about it all along, there wouldn’t be such rampant speculation.”

He deflated. “I just don’t know how I’m going to tell Miles. Or the Major. Their opinions of Cardassians in general don’t inspire much confidence. And they’ve both made it perfectly clear what they think about Elim personally.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Together, we’ll get them to see what a perfect match it is.”

* * *

Blending seamlessly into the shadows, Garak made his way to the doctor’s quarters, unable to suppress a wry grin: to think that his training from Bamarren would be used to rendezvous with a human lover on a Bajoran space station…

He shook his head at the bizarreness of existence and the absurdity of the universe.

Since Odo already knew something of their relationship, he supposed he didn’t really need to be quite so covert in avoiding his cameras, but Garak’s private nature rebelled at the idea of the constable knowing any more about his personal life than he already did. He had not brought up the shapeshifter’s meddling at their subsequent breakfasts, and instead was keeping the knowledge tucked away as a little “insurance” should the occasion ever arise — or should he simply want to completely fluster the changeling at some point. As it was, he could tell that Odo still felt awkward about the situation. And Garak was OK with that.

The Cardassian had no desire to give the constable more opportunity to snoop, though, and with today’s little lapse in front of Dax, he was feeling ever more nervous about being too much in the public gaze, so he took an even more circuitous route to his lover’s door.

Aside from Chalon, Garak hadn’t discussed his relationship with Julian to anyone, and he wouldn’t have even discussed it with her if she hadn’t been so obviously and infuriatingly happy for him whenever he went to the Celestial Café. With a keeness that Garak couldn’t help but begrudgingly admire, she had her own subtle ways of getting him to talk about his relationship. She would comment on the slightly blue coloration of his chufa, _surely a sign that you had a pleasant evening_ she’d say with her smile peeking over her teacup, or _the doctor seemed especially affectionate in the replimat yesterday. I couldn’t help but notice his hand in your lap._

Feeling slightly huffy at the recollections, Garak entered Bashir’s door code, slipping in without being observed. He was a bit early, and the doctor was nowhere to be seen in the common area. Sticking out his tongue, he sensed the air. Mmmm. Icthasa root and Telorian musk — the subtle scent of the aftershave he had sneaked into the young man’s quarters about a month ago. The smell reminded him of the Barenian district on Cardassia II at midday; all heat and sunlight and pheromones. Oh that scent always managed to make him slightly weak in the knees. From previous experience he knew the doctor used the aftershave sparingly — and usually on occasions where he was going to make an unreasonable request. In spite of that knowledge, though, the Cardassian found himself wound up in anticipation.

“You’re early,” the doctor said as he emerged from the bedroom, towel-draped and dripping from a water shower.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Garak growled, quickly moving to the young man and pulling him into a heated kiss. It had been so long since they had been able to be together, and the scent of his lover was so thick on his tongue that he could barely control himself.

After a moment, Bashir drew away. “You’d best be careful. Surely you don’t want to have dessert before dinner?”

“What about both before and after dinner?” He said, nuzzling behind the young man’s ear. 

“You glutton,” the doctor reprimanded. “No. We’re going to sit down and have a very proper evening like civilized adults.”

Garak looked at the young man seriously for a second, noting that the same nervousness he had seen on the human’s face earlier that day still lingered. He hadn’t seen that much strain on his lover in months, and it made him nervous in turn. With trepidation he released the young man, who turned away to go back into his bedroom. 

“Would you pour me some brandy?”

Effectively feeling like he’d been given an errand to perform, the Cardassian poured them both a drink. Each moment that Bashir was absent sent familiar fingers of trepidation through the tailor. He hated feeling this way… each moment so precarious. This was why he had always avoided meaningful relationships — the uncertainty when dealing with such an emotional matter was unbearable.

The problem was, in spite of the uncertainty, he had never been happier. Even with his self-doubt and misgivings, everything had been going so well. He had not pressured the young man about a response to his request for enjoinment, but he had seen no real indication that Bashir was unhappy with their arrangement. Sure, the young man gave him near-constant grief about his rigidity in sticking to their lunch schedule and continued to whine about not being able to kiss him or hold his hand in public, but he had not detected that the doctor’s interest was waning. So while the doctor had said he wanted to “talk about some things,” he had said it with such a flirtatious air, and had kissed him with such passion, that not even Garak’s suspicious nature could convince him that the young man was going to break off their relationship.

As Bashir re-entered the room, wearing the tunic that Garak had made him, the Cardassian put on his most neutral expression. “I should chastise you about your most inconsiderate actions the other day, you know.”

Bashir half-smiled. “And are you going to?”

“I was going to, but perhaps I can hold off... until you've told me what has you so preoccupied." 

The doctor tilted his head. “I’ve just been thinking that a lot of this relationship has been on your terms; the schedule, the _el-ran-geth_. I wanted to introduce a few terms of my own.”

“Like manhandling me in public?”

Bashir smiled, a curious mix of nerves and lust. “That’s just for starters.” He sat down next to the tailor, the tense expression intensifying. “But what I really want is for us to have an equal partnership. I want both of our needs to be met. From what I’ve been able to find out about the _el-ran-geth_ , it necessitates that we both have a say in all things. That we be two halves of a whole.”

Garak felt the need to put his hand to his chest to keep his heart from pounding through… but he resisted. To think that his doctor really _did_ understand the implications of _el-ran-geth_ made him flush with such intense emotions that he felt lightheaded. “Your understanding of the _el-ran-geth_ and mine are the same.”

Bashir nodded. “Then if that is the case, I need to tell you that I am not happy with you dictating how and where we can show affection.” 

Garak pushed his shoulders back. “My dear. It has not been my intention to “dictate” the terms of our relationship, I was just attempting to set up some boundaries… boundaries, I might add, which I thought would be in the best interest of your relationships with the other inhabitants of this station.”

Bashir looked at his lover. “I know. But you’ve known how I felt about keeping our relationship quiet all along. If we are going to be equal partners, we need to come to an agreement.” 

The tailor tilted his head. “What do you propose we do?”

Bashir sat next to him and took a drink of his brandy. “Funny you should use that word.” He leaned over and pulled something out of his pocket, but kept it gripped in his hand. “I’ve been talking with my aunt.”

Garak felt slightly taken aback with the change in topic “Really? I was under the impression that her community didn’t use subspace communication.”

“They don’t. She broke the rules of the Beledi settlement because I wrote her a letter last month and she felt she needed to talk to me about it.”

Garak refused to let any emotion show on his face. “It must have been quite an interesting letter.”

“She thought so.” Julian took another sip of brandy. “I told her I was in love.”

“I see.” Garak’s heart froze. “What exactly did you say?”

“ I told her that I was in love with a man whose regard for literature and intrigue rivaled her own. I told her that he was a Cardassian and was somewhat older than I, but that we had a lot in common; more than anyone could even guess. That he’d proposed enjoining to me a few months ago and that I finally felt like I had an answer to give him.”

“Oh.” The Cardassian swallowed dryly, temporarily unable to say more.

“Yes, and I told her that I didn’t think I would need the full six months before I gave him an answer… so that is why I asked you here tonight. But before I give you my answer, I need to ask you two questions.” Garak noticed the nervousness descend over the doctor again.

Garak tilted his head for him to go on, not sure that his voice wouldn’t give out if he said anything. The doctor paused and took another drink. The tailor watched his lover’s face, trying to discern the questions he was about to ask, but if there was one thing he had learned during the course of their relationship, it was that all of the beliefs and knowledge he held about the universe seemed to apply to everything but his lover. Where he could unerringly predict the most convoluted motives of and outcomes for baser individuals, the shining paragon of Julian Sabatoi Bashir never ceased to surprise him.

The doctor cleared his throat. “The first question I have is: What do you think about genetic manipulation?”

It was totally unexpected, and Garak couldn’t help but laugh. “On a philosophical level? I am sorry to say that Cardassian opinions on such things are quite different from those of your Federation. It is common practice for Cardassian parents to not only selectively breed, but for embryonic gene manipulation to take place. It is really only the Federation’s short-sightedness that makes gene manipulation a crime. But really, what does genetic engineering have to do with…” and suddenly the last pieces of the puzzle fit into place.

The young man face appeared to be in agony. “I have something I need to confess…” the doctor said quietly, unwilling to meet his lover’s gaze.

And it was then that the Cardassian realized that it wasn’t their relationship that had made the young man so nervous earlier, but rather this confession to something that he thought of as a crime. _Oh these humans and their strange ways!_ he thought. Reaching out for Bashir’s hand, he spoke quietly. “That you’re genetically engineered? Is that supposed to shock me, Julian? Am I supposed to be disgusted by you? My dear,” he pulled Bashir to face him. “Anyone with eyes could see that you were more than your human counterparts. I had always assumed it was something much more mundane… some interbreeding with a Vulcan in your family line perhaps, but this makes just as much sense. And changes my opinion of you not in the slightest.”

The doctor looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “It doesn’t bother you that you’ve been sleeping with a freak? Or that I’ve kept it from you all this time?”

It really was becoming difficult not to laugh…“First, what kind of hypocrite would I be if I were to be upset at you for keeping a secret? And second, haven’t we amply established through our discussions that Federation principles do not apply to all cultures? When I look at you, I do not see a “freak” as you so inelegantly call it. Rather, I see a beautiful, intelligent young man who has simply had a medical procedure. Frankly, I must admit that I am more than a little impressed that you kept this piece of information from me all this time. It simply shows that my skills have become far too rusty during my exile.” He leaned back, shaking his head. “I always knew there was something more to you than met the eye. To think that I didn’t figure it out years ago really speaks more to my declining abilities than anything else.”

Bashir smiled shyly. “It really doesn’t bother you?’

Garak chuckled. “Not in the slightest. I mean, I suppose that I am a bit upset that you told me and didn’t allow me to find out on my own, but considering it has taken me all this time, I really don’t blame you.” Garak’s eyes twinkled. “Though now I feel inclined to test your limits a bit more strenuously.” Moving with a speed that belied a man of his size and age, the Cardassian lunged to give the young man a kiss, only for said young man to move unbelievably fast and evade the “attack.”

“Well, as long as you don’t test them in public...” The doctor moved back to sit beside his love. “You understand that it would be the end of my career if anyone were to find out.”

Garak looked at him dryly. “My dear, do you really think anyone could pry your secret from me?”

The doctor shook his head, and the tailor marveled at the look of relief in the young man’s eyes. It was that sweet innocence that had melted his heart in the first place, and it continued to leave him astounded: to think that there could be such unmitigated beauty in this harsh universe.

Bashir took a deep breath. “Which just leaves me with one more question.” Bashir reached out and took Garak’s hand. “Elim, I need to know. If I agree to partake in the _el-ran-geth_ with you, will you do something for me?”

The Cardassian fought his impulse to simply agree to anything the young man requested. It wasn’t dignified. But the idea that his love would actually consent to enjoining with him made him feel acutely lightheaded. “And what exactly would that be?” 

Looking down to where the young man fiddled with his hands, he caught the glint of something shiny emerge from the doctor’s grasp. For a minute, Garak couldn’t connect what is eyes were seeing with any sort of rational thought. His beloved was holding a ring, the lights in the quarters glinted off the polished silver band. He felt the warmth of Julian’s hands, pressure as the ring slid over his knuckles. Then the sound of his lover’s voice: “If I agree to enjoin with you in the Cardassian way, Elim, will you agree to marry me? With human trappings and all?”

It took a minute for Garak’s thoughts to process. “I don’t know what to say,” he finally mumbled, unable to tear his eyes away from the band on his finger.

“I was hoping for “yes?”” The doctor looked up at him chagrined.

“Julian, love, are you sure about this? It is one thing to be secretly enjoined, but do you really want to be legally bonded? It might hurt your career.”

“It won’t. And even if it did, I don’t care. You say you want to enjoin with me in the _el-ran-geth_. Doesn’t that mean that we would be totally bonded anyway? That we would be partners not just physically but emotionally and spiritually as well? This is what I want. Will you give this to me? Will you be my husband?”

“You are far too sentimental, my dear.”

“Yes, and you love it. Now what is your answer?”

“I gaveyou six months to decide.”

“Yes, but I want an answer now.”

“We really should talk more about the inequality in this relationship. You are becoming far too demanding. Perhaps I need to rescind my offer to enjoin”

“Do not even _talk_ to be about inequity Elim Raennab Garak.” Bashir was amused, but his voice held a warning nonetheless. “I’m waiting.” 

“And you know how I feel about the Federation. To even think that you would ask this of me…”

“Elim!”

Garak sighed. “I should have known you would expect a _quid pro quo_ arrangement when I asked you to enjoin. I wouldn’t be surprised if there was some Ferengi blood in your veins.” He grinned at the angry look shot in his direction. “Well, seeing as I am unable to deny you anything… and that I desperately want to enjoin with you… “ He closed his eyes and grimaced. “Yes, I suppose I could consent to marrying you…” Opening his eyes again, he fixed the doctor with a stern glance and held a warning finger up. “But under no circumstances will there be a ridiculously fancy wedding. I’ve seen how you humans go on and on about weddings. Almost as bad as the Klingons with all that “the power of Klingon hearts killing the gods” _ethsrera*_. I will not be a party to it. Small, quiet, no fanfare. And definitely not held in Quark’s bar.”

The Cardassian’s heart wavered a little when he saw the naked expression of joy on Bashir’s face. After a moment, the doctor composed himself, and smiled goofily. “You drive a hard bargain. And to think that I thought I’d have to talk _you_ out of a big fancy wedding,” he teased.

The tailor looked at his lover dryly. “Your assumptions about me continue to be disconcerting.”

Bashir smiled. “OK, I’ll agree to not having a big fancy wedding. But I want a reception.”

Garak’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what exactly would that entail?”

“A party for us and our friends to celebrate the start of our new life together.”

The Cardassian leaned back and covered his eyes with a forearm. “I can’t believe I am even entertaining saying yes to this.”

“I thought you couldn’t deny me anything.” Julian smiled suggestively.

“So it would seem…” He paused. “Are you really willing to take tea with me?”

Julian smiled. “I would think my answer was obvious.”

“But I want to hear it.”

The doctor leaned close, fingertips running over grey neck ridges.”Yes, Elim, I will take tea with you.”

Garak gave a triumphant growl and pulled the young man forcefully into his lap, sliding his hand between the doctor’s thighs. 

Bashir leaned away. “Oh no you don’t. We still haven’t eaten and I’m hungry… for food” he added at Garak’s suggestive look. “In fact, I was thinking we could go to the Celestial Café.”

Garak looked away. “I don’t know, Julian.”

“Elim, you have just agreed to marry me, and I have agreed to enjoin with you. Are we really still not allowed to be seen in public together?”

“But we are neither married nor enjoined _yet._ ”

Bashir looked at him fondly. “But we will be.”

It took some more wheedling, but before Garak knew it, they were in the corridor leading to the Café. The whole walk there he felt the weight of the ring on his finger, and he had forced himself not to gape at it in amazement. There would be time for that later: in the privacy of his own quarters when the young doctor was not looking at him with that amazingly radiant smile on his face.

At the doors, Bashir entwined their fingers, gripping firmly when the Cardassian tried to pull away. 

“No, Elim.” He squeezed even more tightly and opened the door. Garak was grateful that it was late and that they were the only ones there. His muscles relaxed a little bit.

Chalon walked up to them, and when she saw their joined hands, she practically glowed. “Good evening, gentlemen.”

“It’s an excellent evening, Aroya” Bashir said. “Elim just agreed to marry me.”

“Julian!” Garak pulled his hand away and looked daggers at his lover, who appeared not in the least contrite.

Chalon, on the other hand, looked even happier that she had when she saw their hands. “Oh, by the Prophets! That’s wonderful!” She quickly escorted them to their table and scurried off. Garak was still glowering at a thoroughly unrepentant Bashir when she returned with a bottle of champagne and three glasses, pulling up a chair. She hardly even glanced at the Cardassian, instead focusing all of her attention on the doctor as she poured the champagne. “OK Julian, I want details!”

Garak sat there, arms folded, as his lover proceeded to go into painful detail about what he considered a very private matter (omitting the part about genetic manipulation). 

“Well, last month I wrote a letter to my aunt telling her about... us" the Cardassian felt bathed in Bashir's loving gaze, "...And last week I got a communication that my aunt was going to contact me using subspace, which isn’t allowed under the rules of the community she lives in. I thought something was wrong… why else would she break with her community’s beliefs? When I saw her face, I knew she had gotten the letter I’d sent her.”

In spite of his pouting, Garak broke his self-imposed silence and asked: “And what did she say?”

“She was incensed!”

Garak sighed. “I’m hardly surprised. Julian, did you really think your family would approve of our union?”

Bashir rolled his eyes. “She wasn’t incensed about us being together. She was angry because you hadn’t stopped to consider what my culture’s marriage rites were. “Enjoining is fine,” she said “but you have to put your foot down, Jules. Secret unions may be fine for his culture, but if you want to be openly married under the Federation, then you should tell him and not take “no” for an answer.” 

Chalon giggled. “Yes, Garak, it was really very inconsiderate not to ask what Julian wanted to do.”

He shifted his eyes between the doctor and the Bajoran. “Is it too late to back out of all of this?” The tailor asked. 

“Yes, it is,” Bashir said as he reached across the table. With resignation, Garak took his hand. The doctor turned back to Chalon. “So, she and I spent the next couple of evenings talking and looking at different types of wedding bands. I wanted it to be perfect, and my aunt has a neighbor that makes traditional Bedouin silver rings, so…” he adjusted Garak's hand to show Chalon the ring.

Garak felt a bit like he was being swept up in a wave. Bashir’s eager words and glow of happiness washed over him, and in spite of himself, the Cardassian realized he was smiling, just a little, and that the feeling of the wedding band on his finger felt amazingly good, and that it wasn’t actually so painful holding his beloved’s hand in front of Chalon, and that it would probably be very nice to visit his sweet doctor in the infirmary, and hold him if he was having a bad day instead of just sneaking into his quarters to leave a gift.

Chalon’s voice broke in on his thoughts. “Well, I can’t tell you how glad I am that everything worked out,” She held out her champagne flute. “Cheers.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual: un-beta"d and offered with sincere apologies for typos!
> 
> * translates to “excrement of the ragnar”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elim and Julian make the rounds and tell the other inhabitants of the station about their relationship

* * * 

“Molly, that’s lovely,” Bashir said as the O’Briens’ little girl showed him her artistic interpretation of a pony. “I especially like the curly purple tail.” 

“Thanks Uncle Julian.” The little girl smiled and ran back to her coloring. 

The Chief cleared his throat. “Alright, Julian. As lovely as this evening has been, care to tell us why you invited yourself over for dinner tonight?”

Over the empty dishes, Miles and Keiko looked at him expectantly.

Bashir took a sip of his brandy and noticed that his hand was shaking. With conscious effort he stilled the tremor.

“Well, you know how you’ve been harassing me about whom I’ve been dating?”

Keiko glared at the Chief and smacked his shoulder. “Miles!”

O’Brien looked at her placatingly. “Not harassing. Teasing. I’ve just been teasing him.”

“Harassing,” Bashir asserted. He took a deep breath. “Well, we’ve decided that we want to be together… we’re going to be married and I want you both to come to the reception.”

Keiko’s face lit up and the Chief clapped him on the back. “Julian, that’s great! Congratulations… Now would you please just tell us who you’re marrying?”

 _Here goes nothing._ the doctor thought. He took a deep breath. “Garak.”

Bashir watched as the O’Brien’s looked at him wide eyed.

The Chief began to splutter. “Garak? That Cardie Bastar…”

Keiko squeezed O’Brien’s arm in a death grip. She smiled at Julian encouragingly. “That’s wonderful, Julian. We’d be happy to be there. Wouldn’t we Miles?”

“You can’t be serious…” His friend looked at him like he had gone mad. 

_”WOULDN’T we, MILES,”_ Keiko repeated with a rather sharp elbow to the ribs.

Miles looked down at the table. “Aye, yes of course.”

”We’re very happy for your Julian,” Keiko said, reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. “I’m not sure what you two are planning in terms of the reception, but I’d be honored if you’d let me make some floral arrangements for you.” She smiled, and Bashir felt warmed from it. “Mr. Garak and I have talked a few times about his affinity for Edosian orchids, and while I don’t think I’d be able to cultivate anything quite so rare, I think I’d be able to include a few other Cardassian flowers.” 

Bashir breathed a sigh of relief. He’d always liked Keiko — admiring her for her kind heart and complete acceptance of others. He remembered hearing how she had chastised O’Brien when he had judged the Cardassian boy Rugal too harshly without even having met him. Julian was grateful to have her on his side. With her help, Miles might just be able to come to terms with the whole situation. “That would be wonderful. And I know Elim would appreciate it.”

Keiko patted his hand and got up. “I’m going to clear the table and give you two a chance to talk.” She shot the Chief a “behave yourself” look before she left.

The two sat in silence for a while.

“You could’ave told me, you know.” O’Brien said finally.

“Told you I was dating the ‘Cardie Bastard’?” Julian said, taking a drink of his scotch. He felt slightly vindicated when the Chief winced. “Well, I wanted to, but Garak said he didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

O’Brien rubbed a hand over the back on his neck, looking guilty. “He thought it would’ave ruined our friendship?”

“He knew that you wouldn’t approve. He wanted to just keep our relationship a secret forever, but I couldn’t. I had to believe that you would be willing to accept that I loved him, even if you weren’t happy about it.”

The chief’s eyes widened. “You actually love him?”

Bashir’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I do.”

O’Brien ran a hand over his eyes and leaned his head back. After what felt to Julian like an eternity, the Chief let out a deep groan. “Alright, but if he hurts you, so help me I’ll…”

…

“Constable, might I have a word with you?”

Garak watched as Odo appraised him from behind his desk. “I suppose so.”

“Thank you.” The Cardassian neatly folded himself in the chair facing the shapeshifter. “I wanted to inquire about the station’s policies on breaking and entering. It seems I had an uninvited visitor to my quarters several months ago and I wanted to know if the statute of limitations had run out.”

Even with his limited facial expressions, the changeling looked embarrassed, and he busied himself looking at a PADD. “Was anything taken?”

“No.”

“Can you prove that your quarters were entered?”

“There was no physical proof; no. But the intruder admitted his crime to a third party.”

“I see.” Odo moved uncomfortably in his chair. “Garak, let me just…”

The Cardassian beamed. Oh, it was nice to see the constable so off his balance. After the changeling had stumbled around a little bit, Garak held up his hand. “Constable, relax. I was merely having a little fun with you. While I wasn’t pleased to learn about your visit, it did end up helping considerably when I finally approached Dr. Bashir about partaking in the _el-ran-geth_ ceremony. You may be interested to learn that he has since accepted my proposal.”

Odo looked up at the Cardassian, and Garak was touched by the genuineness of the changeling’s smile. “That is good news. I’m happy for you, Garak.”

“Thank you, Odo. Now, I must ask: can you shapeshift your outfit to something more black-tie? Julian and I would be most happy if you could come to our reception, and the dear boy insists on it being a formal affair.”

…

“WHAT!”

Bashir’s ears rang from the volume of the Major’s shout, and the whole replimat turned to look at their table. In support, Jadzia placed a hand on the doctor’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He had known that this conversation would be the most difficult — even more so than the one with Miles. He was glad he had asked Jadzia to come along for moral support. Taking a deep breath he repeated his words: “Garak and I are enjoining, Major, and I’d like it if you would come to the reception.”

Slowly he watched as the color of Kira’s complexion ceased to resemble her uniform and again began to take on her normal hue. She looked between the Trill and the human then smiled. “This is some kind of joke, right? You’re having me on.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Dax glare at Kira and shake her head. Now, instead of red, the Major’s face turned white.

“Major, I know it must seem strange to you, but Garak and I have been dating for almost a year now, and, well… we’ve decided to make it official — we’re not just going through with the enjoining ceremony, we’re going to be married under the Federation, too. I wanted to tell you in person instead of just having our request for bigger quarters appear on your desk. And I wanted you to be at our reception because you’re my friend.” Bashir could still feel his heart beating in his ears. 

The Major’s eyes were squinted as she looked at Jadzia. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”

The Trill nodded. “Yes, I did. I wanted them to tell people months ago, but they were afraid it wouldn’t go over well with the rest of the staff — but I told Julian that we were his friends, and that we would support him.”

Bashir watched as the Major processed the information. He could only imagine what she was thinking. He knew she already regarded him as being foolish and headstrong. With her experience fighting the Cardassians, she must now think he was mad, too. And while he didn’t feel he needed her approval, he did want a modicum of acceptance.

As the silence extended, he decided to at least appeal to her professionalism. “If you don’t feel right coming to the reception, I understand. I just hope it won’t affect our working relationship.”

The set of the redhead’s jaw softened. “Julian, I may not like Garak, and I may think you’re crazy for wanting to marry him, but you’re not stupid. If you want to do this, and no one else has been able to talk you out of it, then it’s your choice. As for affecting our relationship: I already think you’re a stubborn pain in the ass, and this won’t change that — but you’re a good man and you’re a friend, so whatever you decide to do, I’ll support you.” She gave him a begrudging smile. “And of course I’ll come to the reception… but I make no promises that I’ll enjoy myself.” 

…

“No, Quark, we will not be having it in the bar.”

“But Garak, wouldn’t it be much more….”

The Cardassian held up his hand. “No. We have already decided the reception will be in the briefing room. All we need from you are the refreshments.” The Cardassian succinctly laid out the menu that he and Julian had agreed upon; including a cake that the tailor couldn’t help feel slightly embarrassed about. ( _“Elim, it’s my wedding and if I want a three-tiered wedding cake, I’m going to have a three-tiered wedding cake!”_ His fiancé had said. The tailor had then asked if he should sew Julian a white gown with a twelve foot train…but after Julian had pouted so adorably, the Cardassian had relented… but he still talked him down to a single layer cake).

“And I have a special request for the cake,” Garak said, as he outlined his plan to the Ferengi.

Quark looked bewildered. “Alright, but I want a 35% gratuity.”

“15%,” Garak countered.

“25%.”

“Agreed.” The Cardassian then fixed the Ferengi with a cold-eyed stare. “But if there are any hidden fees, I will visit your quarters while you sleep and break every bone in your body.” After a moment of glaring, he felt he had made the veracity of his threat clear and he turned to exit the bar, but before he made it through the doors, Quark called out to him.

“I must say it’s about time you two got together. Three more weeks and I would have owed Morn two bars of gold pressed latinum.” The Ferengi smiled in a manner that wasn’t entirely tinged with avarice. “And Garak,” the bartender continued, “Congratulations.”

…

Bashir fidgeted outside of Sisko’s office. Giving himself a mental countdown. 3…2…1 he walked through the door.

“Captain, can I have a moment?”

Sisko leaned back in his chair. “Of course, doctor. What’s on your mind?” He indicated that Bashir should sit down.

“I wanted to invite you to a party I’m hosting… Well, co-hosting.”

Sisko smiled knowingly. “Ah, so you and your secret girlfriend are going to finally make an announcement?”

Bashir shifted. “Well, Captain, not exactly. I’m going to be hosting the event with Garak.”

Sisko stopped rolling his baseball around in his hands. “Garak?”

“Um, yes. We finally decided that it was time to let everyone know. About us.”

The Captain’s eyebrows quirked. “You… and Mr. Garak.”

“Yes Captain. And that isn’t all.” He pushed the Federation marriage certificate across the desk to his commanding officer.

Sisko leaned over to look at the document, then fixed the doctor with an evaluating stare. “You’re not serious.”

The doctor squared his jaw. “Yes sir, I am.” Bashir took a deep breath. “I don’t expect people to understand, but Elim asked me to enter into a Cardassian enjoining, and he agreed that since I was human and we weren’t on Cardassia, we could also have a human marriage and that I could incorporate some Earth customs. So, we’re going to have a reception in addition to the Cardassian ceremony. I’ve already completed the paperwork required by Starfleet for the marriage —” he indicated the forms “so all I need is your signature on the certificate and on the requisition for larger quarters.”

After a second of staring at his young CMO, Sisko got out of his chair and began to pace. “Doctor, let’s — just for a second — forget that the Federation and Cardassia have, at best, an uneasy truce. Let’s forget about the fact that Mr. Garak was a spy. How can you overlook the fact that he was an interrogator? He tortured people. He tortured Constable Odo!”

Bashir didn’t back down. “I won’t attempt to defend what he’s done, but I know he is not the same man he was when he was with the Order. Will I ever be able to trust him to tell me the truth about everything? No. Will I ever know his past? Unlikely. But I don’t care. I love him. I want to be with him. And as far as the constable is concerned: Odo knows about us.” Bashir snorted a morbid laugh. “Actually, when Odo found out we were dating, he asked me not to break Garak’s heart. He told me that Elim had suffered enough already and that he didn’t want to see him get hurt anymore. He was the one that told me that Elim wanted to enjoin with me.”

Sisko put the baseball back on its stand and got up from his chair. “Doctor. If you’ll excuse me…”

…

“Garak!”

The tailor looked up from the sweater he was folding. “Captain Sisko, what a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you today? A new suit perhaps?” The Cardassian said in his best customer service manner.

The Captain crossed the room and grabbed the front of the tailor’s tunic in a fist. “You can start by telling me what the hell this is all about!”

Garak looked down at where Sisko gripped his shirt. “Really, Captain. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping into my office?” His voice lowered and became menacing. “This seems like the type of conversation that might be more comfortable out of the public eye.”

Reluctantly, Sisko let go of the tunic, and Garak meticulously straightened it back into place with a sigh. The stiff fabric of the collar would never be the same. 

As soon as they were in the back room, Sisko began his tirade again. “Bashir just told me the two of you are getting married. Just what the hell are you playing at Mr. Garak?”

The tailor pulled himself up and glared. “Playing at? Believe it or not: nothing. For the first time in untold years, I am not playing at anything.”

“Are you trying to tell me that you love him?”

“That is _exactly_ what I am trying to say. And for some reason that is quite beyond me, he appears to reciprocate my feelings. Believe me, it wasn’t my idea to tell everyone about us. I would have been perfectly happy to enjoin with him privately — I had no wish to risk his career, nor his friendships — but for some unfathomable reason he wanted to let everyone know about... what we have.”

Sisko’s eyes searched his face, and for a second, Garak could imagine how Dr. Parmak had felt during his interrogation. But _this_ Cardassian was made of sterner stuff and he simply glared back at the human. After some moments, Sisko shook his head. “For once, Mr. Garak, I think you’re telling the truth.”

Garak sighed. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? And might I say that it’s a very uncomfortable feeling. Frankly, I blame Dr. Bashir for being a bad influence on me. Before I met him, I would have never been so disgustingly honest.” He looked at Sisko wryly. “He says it’s his love that brings out the “best” in me.”

Slowly the lines on Sisko’s face softened. “I’m not going to say that everyone will be pleased with this turn of events. What little is known about you isn’t going to make Starfleet comfortable with such a relationship.” The Captain sighed. “…But, for myself, if you two are really in love, I’ll make sure that neither of you are harassed and will make sure you are treated with respect.” 

“I appreciate that, Captain.”

“But what about your friends on Cardassia? What will they think of this?” 

Garak closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Believe me, aside from one old woman on Cardassia Prime, I really don’t think anyone will care. Most of my old… associates… were killed in the Gamma Quadrant. And as an exile, I am _damnatio memoriae_ , to use a human phrase. What few enemies remain will simply see this as further reason for my being cast out. They will probably get a laugh at the situation, nothing more.” The Cardassian fixed Sisko with a meaningful stare. “Believe me, if I had any doubt that the doctor was safe, I wouldn’t have proposed in the first place.”

“And what about you?”

“As long as nothing happens to Julian, I don’t much care what happens to me. But I would be very surprised if any action was taken against me, either. The only person that might have made a move against our union is dead.”

Sisko nodded. “Very well, Mr. Garak. Dr. Bashir has an untarnished record, and he is an excellent officer. He is also a good and caring man.” His mouth quirked up in a small smile. “And, often in spite of yourself, you have been known to do honorable things from time to time. I hope that you will treat him as he deserves to be treated.”

The tailor looked at the Captain with more sincerity than he ever remembered feeling before. “I intend to.”

Sisko nodded his head. “Then I would be honored to sign your marriage certificate… and join you at your reception.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated how O'Brien, Sisko, and Kira would accept the news of Julian and Elim's relationship, and a few other versions of this chapter were not quite as rosy, but this is a fluffy, feel-good fic, so the final version proves Jadzia's assertion that Julian's friends will support him no matter what... acceptance _is_ the Federation way, after all. :-)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Miles drink. A soused doctor and his fiancé have an intimate interlude. And Garak has too much to do.  
> Somewhat explicit smut, but I feel the real warnings should be for over-the-top sentimentality and fluffiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With unending gratitude to Tinsnip for her beta and for letting me reference the f’irit blossoms from her story "Ticks"
> 
> Any errors still contained are mine and mine alone.

Julian leaned against Miles O’Brien as they sat at the bar in Quark’s — the two men singing off-key renditions of “Jerusalem” and “The Night You Can’t Remember,” completely oblivious to the alternately amused or annoyed glances the other patrons shot their way.

Shortly after the last stanzas of homage were given to England being so lush and verdant, Julian grabbed Miles’s shoulder in a tight grip, eyes shiny and a touch frantic. “I’m getting enjoined in two days.” 

“That you are.” Miles looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. “It’s not too late to back out, you know.” p>

Julian huffed an exaggerated sigh. “But I don’t _want_ to back out. I love ‘im, Miles.” The soused doctor smiled into his beer. “The way he looks at me through those beautiful blue eyes. His laugh.” His grin tinged on mischievous. “The way he loves to annoy you,” he added, then had to shift precariously on his stool to avoid Miles’s ill-aimed punch at his shoulder.

When Miles regained his own balance, he nodded. “Aye. Well, he certainly does a good job of the last one, at least.” He shrugged. “But if Molly likes him, I guess he can’t be all bad.”

Since announcing their engagement, Keiko had invited Garak and Julian for dinner at the O’Briens’ on a few occasions. The first dinner had been downright chilly — Garak going out of his way to get the Chief’s goat as the engineer stewed and refused to make eye contact with anyone. Yet, when Molly had asked Garak to color with her, and the Cardassian had dutifully crawled onto the floor to join the O’Briens’ daughter, Julian had seen just a little bit of thaw in Miles’s heart.

“He’s good with kids,” Keiko had whispered to Julian, and he’d found himself a bit surprised at his fiancé’s patience with the little girl as he sketched her portrait with a burnt sienna crayon.

Dusting off the knees of his exquisitely tailored pants, Garak had finally returned to the “grown-ups” table. “You have an intelligent and talented daughter, Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien. She is a credit to you both.” 

And Julian’s heart had nearly burst with happiness when Miles had genuinely smiled at the compliment. “Thanks. You should know she doesn’t ask just anyone to color with her.”

Garak tilted his head. “Then I’m honored.”

Remembering that first moment of cease-fire between his fiancé and his best friend, Julian looked over his pint at the Chief. “I’m glad you’re OK with this, Miles. I was really afraid I’d lose your friendship when I told you.”

The chief snorted. “Yeah, well, you were a damned fool thinking you could get rid of me that easy.” He glared into his beer. “Anyway, it’s obvious Garak adores you,” he mumbled. “So who am I to stand in the way of your happiness?” Miles’ voice was gruff, but Julian could clearly see the softness in his eyes. Visibly uncomfortable in the moment, the Chief took a drink and then cleared his throat. “I still should have thrown you a real bachelor’s party. I know Cella would have been happy to give you a good sent-off.” 

Julian smirked. “I’d rather have my good time with Elim.”

Miles looked even more uncomfortable. “You don’t miss...? You know. With women?”

Julian shook his head. After he had told Miles about his engagement to Garak, they hadn’t really discussed any details, but both knew there were unspoken questions. “No.” Julian took another sip of his beer. “No one else has ever made me feel like Elim does. Nothing even compares.”

Miles‘s voice was low. “All this time, I didn’t even know you were interested in blokes.”

“Well, I’d never dated one before. But even the first time I met him… I don’t know, I just knew there was something between us,” Julian said, and he could feel a blush spread across his face.

Miles snorted. “Yeah, I remember that day. I mean, you’d been annoying before that, but it was then that I knew you were going to be a real pain in the arse. You came runnin’ in, mouth going a light-year a minute.” He set down his beer, put his hands to the sides of his face, and proceeded to imitate Julian’s accent. “Oy, everyone, the Cardi spy just talked to me. And he has such dreamy eyes.”

This time it was Julian’s turn to playfully punch Miles’s shoulder. “I said no such thing!”

The Chief shrugged as he picked up his pint. “You might as well have, though.” He gazed back into his pint. “So before him you’d never… with a man?”

“No. At least nothing serious.” Julian looked at Miles out of the corner of his eye. He’d known that Miles wouldn’t approve of Garak being Cardassian, but… “Does it bother you? That he’s male?” 

Miles rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I mean, I may not feel the same way, but I’ve got no problem with that.” Finally he looked at Julian. “I was just confused. You’d always been so obsessed with chasing women. I was trying to understand if that had been an act or what.”

“It wasn’t an act. I like women. But I love Elim.”

Miles mulled that over for a while, and then nodded decisively. “Fair enough.” He put his empty glass down in a matter-of-fact way. “’nother round?”

Julian smiled. “Is England a green and pleasant land?”

“Aye, that she is,” Miles said with a grin. “That she is.”

. . . 

Julian had some difficulty keeping vertical as he navigated his way down the corridors leading away from the O’Briens’ quarters. He had felt a bit sheepish dumping the drunken engineer into Keiko’s arms and leaving her to deal with the aftermath, but it was really Miles’s own fault. _Julian_ hadn’t been the one to order the last round — nor the five before it. _Julian_ wasn’t the one whose curiosity about the logistics of his and Garak’s relationship had increased as the evening progressed. And it certainly wasn’t Julian who had started asking more and more intimate questions as the empty glasses accumulated. 

It _was_ Julian, however, who’d laughed uproariously when Miles turned beet red on more than one occasion after Julian had divulged perhaps a bit more than he should have about his and Garak’s sex life.

And speaking of his and Garak’s sex life…

Turning his feet in direction of Garak’s quarters, Julian hazily recalled the first time he had sneaked into Garak’s quarters after a long shift at the infirmary, and the memory gave him a delightful shiver. He’d thought it would be exciting to wake his lover up with a little midnight poke-and-tickle, and his heart had been racing well before he got to room 901. He’d overridden the door code and been pleased to find the Cardassian sleeping peacefully under his customary mountain of blankets. Julian’s bright idea to quietly infiltrate said blankets, though, had resulted in a startled Obsidian Order-trained Cardassian flipping him to the ground with a hand to his throat.

After the blood lust had cleared from Garak’s eyes, though — and even later when Garak had finally stopped apologizing — they had both decided that any late night encounters should probably be loudly announced from a safe distance first.

What Julian hadn’t mentioned to his lover, though, was that he hadn’t been all that put off by the masterful way Garak had subdued him. In fact, he’d found the whole encounter rather erotic, and would have discussed it with his beloved if the Cardassian hadn’t been so upset that he’d almost hurt his lover. 

_Oh, well_ Julian figured, _It’s not like we won’t have many years together to explore that particular avenue…_ Yet just thinking about the scenario was definitely affecting him, and he shifted impatiently in his uniform. Maybe if he was _very_ charming, he’d get lucky on the night of his bachelor party yet…

Finally at his destination, Julian entered the door code and stumbled in, navigating his way to his lover’s bedroom. He stopped at the doorway, a safe distance away, and called out:

“Eeeeee-lim.”

The lump under the blankets stirred and emitted a small hiss — the raven-haired head peeking out just slightly from under the covers. Even though the Cardassian awoke quickly enough when he felt threatened, Julian always found it funny that when Garak felt safe and cozy, it took him quite a while to regain full awareness when roused from sleep.

Julian leaned against the wall and worked on removing his boots while simultaneously trying to keep himself from falling to the floor in a drunken heap. Then… success! One boot dropped down. A shift to the other foot and then the other _plunked_ down as well.

And then he had an idea.

Stripping out of his clothes, Julian slipped the briefs down his legs, and, trying to hold down his laughter, he slingshotted them in the direction of the bed. Even in his inebriated state, his genetically-enhanced aim was true, and they landed on his lover’s head.

The Cardassian jumped, blue eyes blazing in the darkness, hands poised to deliver a lethal blow if need be. Yet, in spite of the deadly intent, Julian thought the look on his beloved’s face was hilarious and he couldn’t control his giggles.

Garak’s eyes fixed on him, sharpening as he came fully back to wakefulness. “I could have killed you,” he hissed, his voice entering that low register that always made Julian’s spine tingle. Hearing _the voice_ only made Julian more aroused, and his laughter trailed off — the tops of his thighs tingling delightfully from alcohol and anticipation. He bit his lip. Time to literally “charm the pants off” of his lover.

Trying to look seductive, he crawled onto the slim bed. “You mean you could have killed my _underpants_ ” He picked up the briefs from Garak’s pillow and twirled them around his finger by a leg hole, trying to act cool.

Garak’s face remained stern, but there was a definite sparkle in his eyes. “You’re drunk, my dear.”

Julian slid to his side. “Mm-hm,” he agreed and then leaned over and ran his tongue over the scales under Garak’s ear. “’m horny, too,” he said, rubbing his erection against the Cardassian’s thigh.

An eyeridge quirked up. “Is that so? Well, what a shame you decided to wake me up so abruptly. Under other circumstances I _might_ have been more inclined to help you relieve your tension.” A grey hand snagged the spinning underwear; bringing them to his chest, he settled back under the blankets and rolled over with his back to Julian.

Undeterred, Julian snuggled down too, pressing himself against his lover’s back. “C’mon, Elim. It was my bachelor party. You wouldn’t just leave me like this, would you?”

Garak snorted.

“I’ll do all the work,” Julian finagled.

Garak’s voice was droll. “My how generous of you.”

Julian curled even closer, pressing his hard sex up against the Cardassian’s back. “Mmm-hm… that’s one of the reasons you love me. My unending generosity,” he purred into Garak’s ear. He smiled when he felt the shiver run down his fiancé’s spine. Julian knew it wouldn’t be long before the Cardassian gave in to their mutual desire. Just one more little piece of encouragement… but what should he say…? Then a light-bulb. Oh, too wicked! 

“Or should I have taken Miles up on his offer?”

Garak turned quickly over and sat up — an odd expression on his face. “And exactly what offer would that be?”

_Uh-oh. Too far,_ Julian realized and he cringed inside. He really hadn’t thought before he spoke… all the blood flowing somewhere much further south than his brain. He had learned early in their relationship that a good portion of the Cardassian’s self-assured air was mere bravado, and it was easy to inadvertently say _exactly_ the wrong thing. Julian reached up and ran a conciliatory hand through Garak’s hair. “Miles was only teasing that he could have hired me a dabo girl to dance for my bachelor party.” He placed a small kiss on his lover’s lips. “But he wasn’t serious because he knows I wouldn’t want one... because he knows I only want you.”

Garak’s blue eyes searched Julian’s, the familiar probing gaze Julian recognized from when he was trying to determine if he was being told the truth. After a long moment of scrutiny — where Julian mustered every ounce of sincerity into his expression that he could — Garak’s eyes softened in the dim light. He shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “And I still can’t understand why.”

“Because I love you,” Julian said as he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss against the corner of Garak’s lips. “Is there nothing I can do to convince you of my undying devotion once and for all?”

”Maybe not ‘once and for all,’” Garak said, and Julian was glad to hear the smile returning to his Elim’s voice, signifying that the crisis had been averted. “In my experience, I have found that these types of things require constant reinforcement.” Then the Cardassian brought the briefs up to his face and inhaled deeply, the seductive look in his eyes causing Julian’s pulse to hum in his ears and the rest of his body to once again hope for a very pleasant outcome to the evening. Tossing the briefs over his shoulder, Garak pulled Julian into his arms, kissing him deeply while a firm hand found the doctor’s sex amongst the blankets and _Oh!_ crisis _definitely_ averted!

Between kisses, Julian heard a lusty hiss coming from deep within Garak’s chest. “So Mr. O’Brien thought he could lure you from me with the promise of a dabo girl, eh?” The Cardassian’s tongue danced across his skin and Julian arched his spine as his fiancé worked his mouth down his body. “And what did you tell him to dissuade his foolhardy attempts?”

Julian closed his eyes, his head spinning just a little from the alcohol and the sudden onslaught of sensation. “I told him no one had ever made me feel as good as you make me feel.”

“Did you, now?” A hot, wet lick circled first one nipple, then the other.

Julian’s words came out breathy and labored. “Told him that you were amazing. That I love having you inside of me. That I can’t get enough.”

Garak’s chuckle stirred the hair trailing down to the crux of his legs. “And I’m sure he loved hearing that.”

In spite of his arousal, Julian did manage to laugh a bit as well. “He did mention that he could have probably gone without knowing that much detail.”

Julian felt Garak’s tongue dip into his navel, causing him to gasp, and then heard words spoken against his flesh. “Yes, I imagine that it was probably more than he wanted to know about our relationship.”

“It was… his fault.” Talking was becoming increasingly difficult as he felt tongue and teeth worry the delicate skin where his leg met his body. “But… he asked… if I missed… being with women.”

The nibbling paused and Julian’s hazy glance went down to see Garak’s blue eyes looking at him. “And do you, my dear?”

“No. I love being with you.”

“Hmm.” He felt a stroke of tongue run the length of his sex, and Julian couldn’t control the way his hips arched off the bed. But again there was a pause. “But perhaps you sometimes miss doing the entering?”

“I don’t know,” Julian said, wishing that his lover would just stop talking and get back to driving him crazy. “All I know is that I only want to be with you.”

Garak slithered up to rest besides him, tracing a hand over Julian’s taut flesh. “Well, if you think you might enjoy it, and since it _is_ the night of your bachelor party, perhaps it is only fitting that you be on top tonight.”

Julian could feel his eyes widen, not believing what he’d heard. “You mean…?”

“Yes, my dear.” He felt Garak’s warm breath against his skin. “After all, when you so rudely awoke me, you _did_ say you would do all the work.”

Julian’s mind suddenly felt like it had been wiped clean. Once in a while he had entertained the fantasy of making love to Garak, but he would never have brought it up. He had learned enough about Cardassian society to know that the older partner in a same-sex relationship never received. Even the scandalous _The Private Labyrinth of Gul Dinset_ had maintained _that_ cultural norm. “Why?” he whispered.

Garak kissed the corner of his lips. “You’ve always said you want an equal relationship. I thought perhaps that this would be one more length to achieving such an end.” The Cardassian’s teeth pressed into the soft flesh below Julian’s ear. 

Julian closed his eyes and tried to steady his breath. On one hand, hell yes he wanted this — the very idea was enough to set sparks all along his spine. On the other hand, he didn’t want Garak to do anything he wasn’t comfortable with — and just because his fiancé was offering didn’t necessarily mean that he really _wanted_ it. And then, (completely ignoring basic humanoid anatomy), on a third _completely different hand_ , he was still feeling quite tipsy, and wasn’t at all sure he was in a proper mental state to make these kinds of decisions, especially not when Garak’s touch was still lighting fires under his skin. “Are you sure about this? I mean, on Cardassia I know it’s not considered… and between the two of us…”

Garak leaned in close. “Julian, I wouldn’t be offering if I wasn’t sure.” Julian shuddered as the Cardassian’s breath ruffled his hair and his hand continued to stroke Julian’s sex. “So am I to assume you would be interested in the proposition?”

Julian swallowed dryly. “Yes.”

“Good.” He stroked Julian a few more times. “I was rather hoping you would be.” One of Garak’s sharp teeth bit his ear lobe and then soothed it with his tongue. “But I must warn you, it has been some years since I’ve engaged in this particular activity. And I would appreciate it if you kept that in mind.”

Julian remembered months ago when he had come home from the Entara system — how, even though he was absolutely sure that he wanted Garak to make love to him, he had still been a mess of nerves and trepidation. Yet his lover had been so patient and gentle, and Julian had been grateful for his care. He wanted Garak to know that he would be just as gentle. He reached down and took the Cardassian’s hand in his. “I won’t hurt you, Elim. I promise.”

Garak brought Julian’s hand up to his lips, then tilted his head to kiss the palm. And what was that? Was Garak trying not to laugh?! “My dear, while I appreciate your concern, I was more referring to the fact that I am unused to the stimulation, and may find completion in an embarrassingly short amount of time.”

“Oh.” The muscles of Julian’s abdomen clenched. “Well, OK then.” 

Garak’s smile was indulgent. “So, my dear. How would you like me?”

Julian squinted his eyes shut, thinking. It really wasn’t fair for Garak to have sprung this on him. If he’d have known there would be _Questions_ and Logistics, he wouldn’t have had as much to drink. As it was, his mind couldn’t seem to think of anything beyond “Want!” and “Now!”

“Um, do you mind being on your back? I’d like to see you.”

Garak smiled as he rolled from his side to his back, stretching the full length of the bed, looking like nothing so much as a Terran housecat. “I think that would be fine. In fact, I was rather hoping for it. I find that I would like to watch you as you take your pleasure.” His smile was heated, eyes half-lidded and sultry. Julian felt like he couldn’t breathe and his mind again blanked out at the picture of his lover spread out before him. 

After a minute of him kneeling there, not quite sure how to proceed, he saw Garak tilt his head to the side of the bed. “If you look over there, my dear, you’ll find a pillow that should be useful in this endeavor.”

Grateful for the lifeline, Julian scrambled over to where Garak indicated and found a pillow much thicker than the standard issue ones that came with every set of quarters. “Elim… um, I don’t remember seeing this before.”

“Strange, it has been sitting by that table ready for use the past two weeks. You should sharpen your observational skills, my dear.”

Ignoring the barb, Julian tilted his head. “Two weeks?”

Garak sighed. “Yes. Ever since I decided that I wanted to offer this to you.”

“ _Two weeks?_ And this is the first I’m hearing about it?” And like a light switch, Julian flipped from nervous anticipation to frustrated indignation.

Now Garak’s smile reminded him less of a Terran housecat and more of the literary Cheshire cat. “Perhaps I was just waiting for the right time.”

_Oh!_ his lover could be infuriating! “And springing this on me, when I’m soused from my bachelor party, two days before our enjoining, and _the day_ before _they_ get here is the perfect time?” he said, trying to keep smoke from coming out of his ears.

Somehow, impossibly, Garak’s grin stretched even wider. “Mmm. Perhaps you’re right. Maybe we should postpone this for another time.”

And he was being played — he knew it, was used to it, and usually quite enjoyed it, in fact — but what kind of game would it be if he didn’t hold up his end of the challenge? With more roughness than was probably necessary, he smacked his fiancé’s hip. “Oh, no. You thought the time was perfect, and who am I to argue with _“he who knows everything?”_

Garak shook his head, smug from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. “Who indeed?” he mused.

And that was it. Nervousness gone, trepidation erased, he pressed himself on top of his lover. “Julian Subatoi Bashir, your future husband, that’s who,” he said, then crushed his lips against Garak’s, whose breathy chuckle quickly turned into a heated moan as he was kissed to within an inch of his life.

Julian broke the kiss just long enough to grab the pillow. “So how come you warrant a special pillow and I don’t?”

“Because, my dear, while I admit that my physical stamina has greatly improved over the past few months, I am still far less flexible than you are. Surely you don’t begrudge an old man some comfort?”

Julian snorted. “Old man my arse. You and I both know you could wear me out pretty much any day of the week.”

Garak smiled. “I would hardly go that far… though I will admit your loveliness does encourage me to perform for far longer periods than other Cardassians of my considerable years.”

“‘Old man,’ ‘Cardassian of my considerable years,’ — now you’ve got me worried that I might break you.” He let one hand wander over his lover’s scaled chest, fingertips dipping into the indentation above the Cardassian’s sternum, drawing an ecstatic hiss from his partner.

“Well, I can’t imagine a better way to be broken,” Garak said, his voice deceptively quiet.

“Well, my ancient Cardassian lover, do you think you can lift your hips without breaking them?”

An overly dramatic sigh. “I can at least try.”

Some shifting, and a surprisingly supple arch of the Cardassian’s back, and Julian was again left breathless as he saw Garak’s spread out before him. Not only was it a highly erotic sight in itself, but the fact that his beloved was willing to break so many of his cultural taboos in order to please his human lover proved a powerful aphrodisiac to Julian. He leaned over to the bedside table and grabbed the jar of oil. While he prepared himself, he placed soft kisses against Garak’s knees, stroking the grey ridged sex with his other hand. “It’s so sexy to see you like this. More amazing than I even imagined.”

The Cardassian’s eyes were intent. “So you have thought of this before?”

Julian bit his bottom lip. “Maybe.”

He heard Garak sigh. “And yet you said nothing?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to. Considering… well… with the stigma around it.”

Garak reached up and cupped Julian’s chin in his broad palm. “My dear, just because I prefer to shroud my past in mystery, it does not necessarily mean that I want my future to be likewise obscured.” Julian marveled at the intensity of his lover’s blue eyes. “While I thoroughly enjoy our wordplay and feints, I would prefer it if you voiced your desires and expectations where our relationship is concerned. After all, you know how much I love your voice…” He paused. “Almost as much as you do.” 

“Oh, now he mocks me?” Julian said, pushing his lover playfully back onto the bed and giving a firm tug to the Cardassian’s erection in retaliation.

Garak chuckled. “Just lightening the mood, my dear.” Julian was glad to hear the breathy quality back in his words.

“Well, if you think I prattle too much, perhaps I’ll just stop entirely…”

“No, love, I don’t think that is necessary.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to bore you.” He nipped at the soft skin on the inside of Garak’s knee to punctuate his point. He was rewarded with a gasp.

“Julian.” Garak was panting now from his ministrations. “I can honestly say that you have _never_ bored me.”

“So I still manage to challenge you after so many years of acquaintanceship?” With the hand not stroking his lover, he traced light fingertips up the insides of grey thighs… over the firm muscles of his behind … 

“My dear… your Oh!” An exhalation of breath hissed between tight teeth; a tensing of muscles and Garak’s eyes clamped shut. Julian bit his lip. It was incredibly erotic to watch as his finger slid into his lover, and he was delighted that he had been able to halt Garak’s incessant flow of words… though it didn’t last long. “ …your ability to surprise and delight never diminishes,” the Cardassian finished in a rush, his voice more tremulous than Julian had ever heard it.

“Neither does yours, my Elim,” he said, adding another finger and delighting in his lover’s reactions as he stretched the tight opening.

Julian’s body was thrumming with anticipation, his own sex hard between his legs. He didn’t want to hurry, but he desperately wanted to join with his beloved. After long moments, he felt like he just couldn’t wait any longer. “Are you ready?”

“Quite, my dear,” Garak said — then his back arched, a low moan filling the room, and Julian realized what he had just managed to find. The Cardassian hissed and groaned as Julian continued to rub the little gland, and he realized with pleasure that he had never heard his lover so vocal before. Blue eyes fluttered open, hazed over with lust, and met Julian’s glance. “Though if you continue in that manner I’m afraid I may finish before you’ve even gotten started,” Garak whispered.

Julian smiled. “Well, I’ll just have to catch up, then,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and positioning himself. “You’re sure you’re ready.”

Garak’s look was full of impatience. “Sweet Mogrund, Julian, just get on…” but before he could finish his outburst, Julian moved in.

Garak was so tight around him, and every undulation of his lover’s hips rippled warmly through his body. Just like their banter, their bodies moved with perfect harmony — point and counterpoint — each movement equally matched and brilliant. Julian could feel heat welling at the base of his spine, heard the gasping breath of his beloved, and he knew neither of them would be long in finding completion. He willed himself to slow down, trying to focus on giving his fiancé pleasure, angling his thrusts to elicit the sweetest response. And he wasn’t disappointed. Every sigh, every mumbled Kardasi endearment, every uncontrolled physical reaction, all of it was intoxicating to witness. For all of their shared moments of passion, Julian had never seen Garak so completely undone, head thrown back and moaning with abandon. It was amazing to see such an uncensored glimpse of his lover, and Julian reveled in it; floating on the knowledge that it was his actions causing Garak to feel such pleasure.

“Elim, I want to feel you. I _need_ to feel you…” he said, placing the Cardassian’s hand around his own sex and entwining their fingers as Garak began to stroke himself.

As he felt the first tremors of climax reverberate through their bodies, he allowed himself to stare at the strong, beautiful man beneath him, enraptured by the serpentine movements of the Cardassian’s body.

He leaned over, thrusting in earnest — his lips against Garak’s ear. “Now, Elim. Come for me _now_.”

Garak’s voice filled the room and Julian felt the grip of his lover’s release echo through his every nerve ending. The sensation was intense, and he buried his face in Garak’s neck as he gave voice to his own pleasure. The heat of it. The rightness of it. It was almost too much and his body, heart, and mind filled with sweet sensation.

As he began to emerge from post-orgasmic lassitude, Julian rolled to his side, gazing at his fiancé while the Cardassian’s breathing returned to normal and the bright indigo coloring of his ridges mellowed to a lighter sky blue. He found himself smiling ridiculously, happy in a way that he couldn’t remember ever feeling. _He’s mine._ Julian thought, drunk more on the feeling of this knowledge than he had felt from ale earlier in the evening.

He looked over to see Garak looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “You look like the regnar that escaped the vatabird,” he said, his voice scratchy but full of humor.

”If that is anything like ‘the cat that got the cream’, then I suppose I do.” Julian tilted Garak’s face towards him and placed a gentle kiss against his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered, then placed his head on the Cardassian’s scaled chest.

Garak snorted. “It was hardly one-sided, my dear.” He picked Julian’s hand up, pressed a kiss to his palm, and then placed it over his heart.

Julian smiled as he absorbed the rhythm through his fingertips as the beat slowly returned to normal. He was only vaguely aware of Garak pulling the blankets over them before he was deeply asleep.

* * *

Garak sighed as Julian once again snored in his ear. The Cardassian’s relationship with sleep was tenuous at the best of times, but now, with so much to do and a looming deadline, his mind refused to quiet. He looked at his beloved: mouth slightly open and the corners of his eyes slightly crinkled in a sweet, happy expression. _The sleep of the innocent._ Garak thought wryly, but then couldn’t help the twitch of his eyeridges. Maybe not totally innocent, his thoughts continued, recalling the way the young man had thoroughly ravished him not much more than an hour ago. The sensations of their lovemaking lingered, warming him. 

It had been decades since he had allowed a lover to enter him, and while some part of him wondered at his choice to disregard his culture’s traditions, the much larger part of him that loved Julian Bashir only wondered why he had been so nervous about it in the first place.

Another snore, and Garak sighed again. With resignation he realized that he probably wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep that night, but he supposed that was just as well with as much as he still had to do. He gently disentangled himself from Julian’s embrace, dressed, wrote a quick note signed with “love”, and went down to his shop.

Between the couture needs of his fiancé, himself, and what felt to be the rest of the station’s inhabitants, he wasn’t sure when he was going to have time to finish everything. Rubbing a sore muscle at the base of his neck, the tailor debated drinking some of the deplorable Klingon coffee that his fiancé was so fond of. He thought back to what his remedy for fatigue was during his time in the Obsidian Order, and he grimaced at the recollection.

His days in the Order felt so very far removed from his life now, and while he knew the Elim Garak of the past would be disgusted at the way things had turned out, he found that the Elim Garak of the present was no longer filled with the regret and anger he used to feel when he thought of his exile.

Ever since he and Julian had begun their relationship, the sharp sting of loss had mellowed daily. Yes, he still missed the sweet bite of the f’irit blossoms. He often craved the plomek fritters from that one street vendor in Lokan. And sometimes, when the cold of the station slowed his movements until he was afraid he might end up bromating, he would recall the delicious heat of the Beltet gardens in the dry season. Yet, when he recalled of these things now, the surrounding thoughts were usually along the lines of: _Would Julian enjoy…?_ or _I wish I could show Julian…_

As he stitched the delicate beads onto Lieutenant Dax’s dress, his mind wandered. On some level, he realized it was so strange for him, a solitary man by nature, to have so completely succumbed to the charms of the young Starfleet officer. Even stranger to think about was how he had lived all of his life in devotion to the Union, but now found his loyalties almost entirely focused on a single human male. But even though he was inextricably besotted, the connection that bound him to Julian were so very different than those that had linked him to Tain, or to Barkan, or even to Palandine. No, for the first time (in a span of years he didn’t particularly like to think about) he was linked to someone without being chained. Allowed to exist without sacrificing himself.

And, instead of moving, marionette-like, to someone else’s designs, he felt he was creating something new for himself. Well, co-creating, he supposed, for Julian was certainly not passive in their relationship. Far from it. The human had proven time and again to have his own mind and views on how their association should progress. And Garak had to admit to himself that sometimes acquiescing to his lover’s wishes, or stretching the boundaries of what he was comfortable with in the interest of pleasing Julian, was freeing in its own way. 

Even agreeing to be open with the rest of the inhabitants of the station about their relationship, accepting the proposal of a ( _gasp_ ) Federation marriage, and flying in the face of standard Cardassian sexual practices had been surprisingly easy when it came to pleasing Julian.

_Dear Hebetian Gods, it seems I am truly past all hope of escaping the trap of this Federation “utopia,”_ he thought, but he smiled wryly in spite of himself. He supposed they were all small prices to pay for the honor of being enjoined with one Julian Subatoi Bashir.

Stifling a yawn, he walking over to the replicator at the back of his shop. “One raktajino… with a double shot of ken’teth. Full alcoholic content,” he added. After the beverage swirled into existence, he took the first sip and winced, but the warmth was welcome and as he sat back down at his worktable, he already felt a little more alert. Good. He would need every ounce of energy to complete all his work.

He was unsure how long he’d been working on Major Kira’s dress when his communicator panel started blinking. Tapping a few lines of code, he answered the call.

“I hope I didn’t wake you, Elim.” The face of Julian’s aunt appeared on the screen, and his lips turned up at the corners.

“Not at all, Fatima.” He smiled ruefully. “Sleep hasn’t come easily to me the past few nights, so I’ve just been doing a bit of work.” Over the course of the past two months, he had gotten to know Fatima and Julian’s mother, Amsha, rather well over subspace, and found them to be delightful. Of course, the relationships that Garak now shared with Julian’s mother and aunt caused his lover some minor annoyance ( _Does she_ really _have to show you baby pictures?!_ his beloved had moaned on more than one occasion), but for his own part, the Cardassian thoroughly enjoyed conversing with the two women. And, even though he and Julian had been together as a couple for almost a year, it was still fun to do and say things that inspired the distressed crease in Julian’s brow to appear.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting nervous about your enjoining,” Fatima said, her eyes twinkling with a mischievousness that he had so often seen in Julian’s eyes as well.

“Not nervous, per se. Rather, just feeling a general sense of having too much to do and not having nearly enough time to do it in.”

She scrunched her nose. “Well, I have some bad news, then. Our transport has made better time than we anticipated. The captain expects us to arrive at Deep Space Nine in a little over ten hours.”

He tried not to let his expression show, but feared that his misgivings were all too obvious. “That isn’t bad news. We will be happy to receive you whenever you get in.” The lie felt a little tight in his mouth, and Fatima actually laughed.

“Julian told me you were a consummate liar, but he never said your lies were so obvious,” she said, and Garak thought back over the past few months.

Julian had not been all that excited to tell his parents about his engagement, and he and Garak had pretty much decided that he would just tell them after they were already married. Fatima, though, had insisted Julian share his happy news with his parents immediately, and he had finally relented about a month before their reception.

But, while Julian had expected horrified glances and pleading protests to reconsider, instead he had received his mother’s overjoyed reaction that her little boy had finally fallen in love and was going to be married. Even his father had handled the news with unexpected good grace, being supportive in a way that Julian had not expected. The only problem came when his parents had told him that nothing in the quadrant would keep them from traveling out to Deep Space Nine to share in his happy day.

_“How much of a “happy day” can it be when my parents are going to be here?”_ Julian had grumbled, and Garak had tried his hardest not to laugh at his fiancé’s melodramatic pouting.

Now, Garak took another sip of his raktajino to buy himself time. “It is the fault of your nephew, I’m afraid. My ability to spin falsehoods works on everyone; except Julian and his family, it would seem.”

Fatima’s smile positively glowed. “I hope that doesn’t mean that Julian was able to figure out that I’m coming, too, correct?”

Garak smiled conspiratorially. “He is still completely in the dark.”

“Well, hopefully he will consider it a pleasant surprise.”

“Oh yes, I have no doubt he will be very pleased that you made the trip. Especially if you act as mediator between him and the elder Bashirs.”

She sighed. “Lucky me.”

”You can count it as part of your gift.” Even though he knew he was alone in the shop, he leaned closer to the screen. “You brought the ingredients?”

“Of course I did. Hand-picked saffron, rose water I made myself, cardamom, and enough dates to stuff the entire station full.”

He tilted his head gratefully. “Thank you, Fatima.”

She smiled. “Of course, Elim.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose I will see you in about ten hours.”

”Until then,” he said, and the line disconnected.

Ten hours… Oh, that was nowhere near enough time! He picked up a PADD and perused the list of things he had planned to do before their reception, dividing the items between what he absolutely had to accomplish within the next ten hours and what could be done the night before the reception when his fiancé and his family were asleep.

Asleep… which reminded him of Julian, warm and cozy in his bed. He could picture the scene: his beloved’s hair splayed across his pillow, those adorable little snorts and whimpers he made when he dreamt, the body heat that was positively addictive for a mildly ectothermic Cardassian. He fought the nearly overwhelming urge to say “sod it” to his list of things to do and simply crawl back into bed besides his love. Instead, he finished off his cold raktajino with a grimace and took an inventory of outfits.

Lieutenant Dax’s and Chalon’s dresses were pretty much ready. Major Kira had asked him to fix a rather badly ripped strap, but he felt that he had figured out a way to mend it while still maintaining the basic aesthetic of the piece. Keiko had brought the Chief’s suit in two days ago telling him that the trousers needed to be taken out (again) and that O’Brien was still complaining about the legs and arms being too long, so there was that to do. Keiko, lovely creature that she was, had told him not to worry about her when he had asked if she needed any alterations. He could have kissed her... until, that is, she brought out a length of cloth, in a pattern she called “Irish tartan,” and had guiltily asked if he might have time to make the stout Irishman a vest.

Feeling relatively awake now, he decided he needed to calm his nerves. He ordered a rokassa juice and tapped in a message to Julian warning him about his parent’s arrival to the station ahead of schedule, along with setting an alarm for mid-morning in case his fiancé overslept.

Dismissing a final wish to go back to bed himself, Garak hunkered down and restarted his work.

. . . 

Absorbed in his stitching, Garak barely noticed the door to his shop opening, but heard immediately the desperation in his fiancé’s voice. “I got your message,” Julian said as he stood in the doorway of the shop wearing a dejected little frown.

Finishing one hem of O’Brien’s vest, Garak looked up at his beloved. “I’m sorry I had to be the bearer of bad tidings, my dear.”

Julian walked over and jumped up to sit on the workbench, legs swinging. Usually when the doctor sat on his workbench, it annoyed the tailor to no end, but he decided to overlook it this once considering the sad look on Julian’s face.

“Why do they have to come at all?” the doctor asked, casting sad eyes at the Cardassian.

With a sigh, Garak walked over and wrapped his arms around his beloved, saving his eye roll until Julian couldn’t see. “They will only be here a little over 40 hours and then they are going to tour Bajor. Surely you can endure a little over a day with your parents.” 

The doctor looked skeptical. “You don’t know what they’re like, Elim. Not really. You’ve talked to them, but you don’t know what it’s like to actually be _around_ them.” He shivered in the Cardassian’s arms.

“Surely you’re over-reacting, my dear.”

“Not by much,” Julian said, and his lips pushed out into a pout. “And you’re going to be here doing _things_ and I’m going to be left alone with them.” Julian buried his head against the tailor’s shoulder. “Could you maybe just hide in the shadows or something? You’re very good at that. You’re by far the stealthiest person I’ve ever met — and knowing you’re close at hand would make me feel better.”

Garak hid the smile that wanted to peek through his façade, glad more than ever that Fatima was coming to the station as well. His smile was also due in no small part to his beloved’s attempt at manipulating him. It did his heart proud to think that all of his years demonstrating to Julian the proper ways to manipulate a subject had actually rubbed off. “While I am usually powerless in the face of your pleading, Julian, this time I must refuse. We only have thirty-eight hours before the reception, and I still need to put the finishing touches on our suits — not to mention letting out the Chief’s pants. Again.” He sighed. “No, my dear, I need every second I can spare. You shall have to face this peril alone.”

The intensity of Julian’s pout increased. “You’re a cruel man, Elim Garak.”

The Cardassian couldn’t keep from chuckling. “Ah, complimenting my ability to move unnoticed is one thing. Blatant flattery of my character is a bit over the top, don’t you think?” He pressed his lips to the doctor’s resistant scowl.

“Not if it gets me what I want,” Julian said, and Garak noted the little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Garak laughed. “It seems you have picked up on a few of my strategies. But it is no use, my dear. I am not going to stalk through the corridors of this space station to protect you from your big, bad parents. I believe you’ll survive just fine on your own.”

“I wish I was as confident.”

“Well, think of it this way: if you do perish, I would still need to finish your suit for the funeral, so you should let me get back to work.”

Julian stuck his tongue out. “But if I die from exposure to my parents, all of your precious tea will go to waste.”

“That would be a shame,” he agreed. “So you shall just have to be the brave little Federation officer I know you can be.”

Julian’s playful bite to his neck ridge made his pulse skip a beat, but now, with future in-laws only a few hours away, was hardly the time for such activities.

“Behave yourself my dear. What if your parents were to walk in just then? I shouldn’t think you would want their first glimpse of me in the flesh to be ravishing you in a public place.”

Julian shrugged. “It could hardly make them any more disappointed in me.”

In spite of years of training and a brutal upbringing, even the slightest offhand comment or sad utterance from Julian made Garak’s heart ache. “My dear, I cannot imagine that they would be anything but proud of you.” He pulled Julian back into his arms. “And even if they were completely insane and weren’t thrilled to have you as their son, _I_ am ecstatic that you will soon be my enjoined.” He leaned back and was pleased to see Julian’s expression a bit less severe. “Come. While you’re here, I think it would be a good idea to have the final fitting for your suit.” He held out a hand and helped the doctor to jump down from the worktable.

Once he was standing back on the ground, Julian smiled flirtatiously. “But don’t you know it’s bad luck to see your fiancé in the suit he’s going to be married in before the wedding?”

“Julian, my love, you know that Cardassians don’t believe in luck,” Garak said after grabbing Julian’s suit, and putting it on the little hook in the fitting room. Before he closed the curtain, he took Julian’s face in his hands and looked into his deep brown eyes. “But if I did believe in luck, considering the man I’m to be enjoined with tomorrow, I would consider myself the luckiest Cardassian in existence.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The arrival of family members becomes a source of tension. How ever shall Julian and Garak manage?

As Julian watched the transport ship begin docking procedures, he took a deep breath and fought the urge to run and hide.

 _Elim is right_ he told himself. _Four hours with my parents is manageable. I can survive four hours…”_ His face squinted into a small pout. _“After that,_ Elim _can take his turn being the center of attention. Let’s see how_ he _likes dealing with them!_

The docking procedure felt like it took twice as long as usual, and each moment served to intensify Julian's discomfort. When the locking mechanisms finally clicked, Julian felt his muscles clench, but he forced a smile onto his face and braced himself.

Even before he saw his family, Julian heard his mother’s voice yell: “Jules, darling!” He couldn’t help but smile a little as he watched Amsha Bashir push her way through the crowd of people as they squeezed between the geared doors of the airlock. A step behind her was his father, and Julian gave the man a brief nod before his mother pulled him into a tight embrace. “My sweet boy. I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you. We all are.”

Puzzling briefly how his mother and father constituted “we all,” Julian caught sight of a face that he was not expecting to see.

Julian's Aunt Fatima smiled brilliantly, and he felt a huge wave of relief wash over him. “I know you wanted to keep things small, but is there room at your reception for one more?” 

“Aunt Fatima, I can’t believe you’re here,” he said, and as soon as his mother’s arms loosened around him, he rushed forward to hug his aunt.

She held him for a moment before leaning back and cocking her head, an incredulous look on her face. “Julian, you should know that nothing in the universe could have kept me away.”

Amsha joined their happy circle, placing a hand on each of their arms. She squinted at her son. “And just where is my future son-in-law?”

Julian sighed. “Elim had work to do, but he’ll be joining us for dinner tonight.”

His father smiled knowingly as he stepped forward and shook his son’s hand. “Ah, what a responsible man, working right until the last minute. Much like I was before Amsha’s and my wedding.”

Amsha turned her head slightly away from her husband, rolling her eyes and sharing a long-suffering glance with her sister and son. She continued. “Well, as long as we get to see him for dinner, it will be all right. He insisted I bring pictures from when you were a child, Jules, and I thought he and I could go through them tonight.”

Julian fought to keep his expression calm. Of course Garak had asked his mom to bring pictures… the great, big jerk. It wasn’t like Julian had the same resources available to him to embarrass his lover. “Well, we’ll see if we have time. Now, why don’t I give you a tour of the station?”

. . . 

Garak took a sip of his rokassa juice — his tension from the morning had only increased as the afternoon wore on. Yet, even with his jangled nerves, he was pretty pleased with the amount of work he’d gotten done. He’d even managed to make the Chief’s vest with the hideous tartan pattern that Keiko had given him, and as long as the Chief didn’t gain more weight in the next 26 hours, the couture part of Garak’s tasks was finally done. He sighed as he placed a protective barrier around Major Kira’s dress.

He walked over to the comm system. “Garak to Major Kira.”

The redhead’s face appeared. “Yes?” she said, the evil-eye she’d been giving Garak the first couple of weeks after Julian had announced their engagement had since dulled to a look of general annoyance, which Garak smiled in the face of.

“Your dress is ready to be picked up, and might I say…”

“OK. I’ll be there shortly,” she said, cutting him off and breaking the connection.

Garak chuckled to himself just a bit. Really, the Major was just too easy to annoy. And now that Chief O’Brien no longer absolutely _hated_ him, Garak really treasured the animosity shown to him by Kira… he felt it kept him on his toes.

Garak turned back to his list of things to do and assessed. It was only an hour before he was scheduled to join Julian and his family for dinner, and there was no way he could prepare their new quarters in that limited an amount of time.

While Julian and O’Brien had been in charge of making sure the majority of their belongings made it to what would soon be their new, shared home, Garak had forbade anyone to touch the more important pieces of his collection. Anyone could transport his clothes and furniture, but there were many things he had no intention of allowing the Chief to see, nor give his beloved the opportunity to accidentally break. Which meant he would have to trundle it all over before their first night as an enjoined couple — and neither he nor his back relished the amount of work that it would entail.

Yet, he wanted more than anything for the night to be special, so he set about refining his list of tasks even further in the hopes that organizing his night would at least make it pass as quickly as possible, and provide a small amount of relief from the metaphorical nervous voles scurrying around in his stomach.

Engrossed in his list-making, he didn’t even look up when the doors to his shop _whooshed_ open. “Major, you’ll be please that I was able to repair…” his words dried on his lips, though, when he looked up and saw who stood in the entrance of his shop.

Smiling blue eyes met his. “It appears that being in love has been good for you, Elim. You no longer have the thin build of a sickly riding hound.”

Garak couldn’t remember the last time he had been more surprised.

. . . 

“I apologize for being late.”

Julian looked up eagerly once he heard his fiancé’s voice. _Thank God Elim is finally here._ he thought, desperate to no longer be the sole center of his family’s attention. Even though Fatima had tried her best to mellow out the afternoon, Julian’s nerves were frayed, and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed with his beloved and not get out until everyone was off the station and light-years away.

“And I hope no one minds, but I received a guest myself this afternoon and was hoping we could all dine together,” Garak continued, and Bashir noticed for the first time that an older Cardassian woman was standing slightly behind his fiancé. “Allow me to introduce Mila Garak.”

The female Cardassian tilted her head in exactly the same manner as Garak did, Julian noted, and her eyes were the same soulful blue color. Garak’s hand rested protectively on the small of her back. “Mila, I would like you to meet Julian Bashir.”

Julian rushed to get out of his chair. “Madam, it’s an honor to meet you.” He extended his hand, palm outward and she touched her palm to his, but she gave him a slightly impatient glance.

“Young man, we are about to be family, you may call me Mila.” She smiled, and again he was struck by the similarity between Garak and Mila, their wry expressions so similar it was uncanny.

He smiled and felt a sweet warmth throughout his chest having been given the honor of calling her by her given name. “Thank you, Mila,” he said sincerely. “And these are my parents, Richard and Amsha Bashir, and my aunt Fatima…”

Introductions were made all around, and Julian breathed a sigh of relief when Elim was finally seated next to him, their fingers naturally entwining under the tablecloth. He allowed himself the luxury of sitting back in his chair while his fiancé took the lead in the conversation, giving Julian a much-needed break.

After a while, Julian gave up trying to follow the chitchat of the group and instead focused on the stately Cardassian woman sitting next to his aunt. He never imagined that he would ever meet a member of Garak’s family, and the whole situation brought their union into startlingly real focus.

After dinner, the group made its ungainly way through the station on a meandering route to the habitat ring; His dad him asked various questions about the station while Garak, Amsha, and Fatima walked ahead and traded stories of a no-doubt “let’s-embarrass-Julian” nature. But whenever he could disentangle himself from his father’s prattling, Julian would fall back to walk next to Mila.

“I didn’t know that you were going to be joining us, Mila. But I’m glad you’re here.”

She chuckled quietly. “Well, don’t be disappointed that Elim didn’t tell you. He didn’t know I was coming, either.”

“But he told you that we were getting married tomorrow?”

She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Of course not.”

Julian’s brow creased. “Then how did you know to come?”

“Oh, I have my resources.”

“Of course,” he said, and as they walked, Julian briefly wondering if the whole Garak family had been members of the Obsidian Order.

“And what exactly has Elim told you about this family that you will be joining?” she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

He let out a wry laugh. “To be honest: nothing really.”

She lifted her eye ridges. “And you consented to enjoin — to be married — without him telling you anything about his family?”

“Yes?” He knew it shouldn’t have come out as a question, but it did anyway. He felt kind of stupid when she said it that like that.

She chuckled again, her hand patting his cheek. “I can see why he loves you. It’s as though you were made just for him.”

“Oh, give the man a break, ladies,” Richard said, walking past his son and Mila, and interrupting Julian’s mother mid-embarrassing-story. Julian’s father clapped a hand to Garak’s shoulder. “You’ll have gossiped his ear off by the end of the night.” Julian watched his father turn towards Garak, and he knew what that look in his father’s eye meant. It was the same look that Julian remembered from his childhood whenever his father was about to talk to a teacher about Jules’ academic performance. “Garak, I thought I saw a bar a ways back. How about you and I have a drink?”

Julian felt his blood chill, and he looked desperately at his beloved, but Garak gave him a nod that communicated “It will be alright.”

“That would be delightful,” Garak said as he unhooked Fatima’s arm from his and tilted his head toward Amsha. “Though I still want to see baby pictures.” Julian’s glare didn’t dampen the sunny smile that Garak shot his way.

As Julian watched Garak and his father walk towards Quark’s, Julian felt his face drop. There, staring back at him, were three pairs of appraising, expectant female eyes.

He took a deep breath. Well, what was good for the Cardassian would be good for the human. He turned to Mila.

“So, Mila. I would love to hear some really embarrassing stories about Elim from when he was growing up.”

. . . 

Ever since Garak had started his correspondences with Julian’s relatives, he had been delighted by the charm and wit exhibited by Amsha and Fatima. Julian’s father, though, reminded Garak a bit too much of Gul Dukat with his braggadocio (though, to the human’s credit, Richard Bashir was not _nearly_ as insufferable as Dukat). As they walked to Quark’s, Richard made some random small talk in which he bragged rather a lot about questionable achievements, and Garak responded with his best customer service smile and repartee. Yet, Garak was only half paying attention to what the man was saying. Instead, he allowed his mind to reflect on his own family.

Mila’s unexpected appearance on the station had been half pleasant surprise and half source of anxiety. It had been almost six years since he had seen her in person — since before his exile — and he wasn’t sure what she would think about the man he had become. And, of course, he couldn’t think of her without immediately thinking of Tain as well, and Garak could well imagine what _He_ would have thought about the whole situation. On the other hand, though, Garak had no doubt that Tolan — his father, even if in name only — would have been pleased with the way Garak’s life had changed. And, as he allowed Richard’s words to flow over him, he wondered briefly what it would have been like to grow up having one _real_ father, as Julian had.

Finally in Quark’s, Garak smiled to himself when Richard ordered a Scotch — the same drink he had heard Julian order every time that he and O’Brien finished one of their Flying Ace holosuite programs. Though Garak knew Julian would have been outraged at the very idea, Garak did note a few similarities between father and son — most notable being their tendency to ramble on when nervous. Unlike Julian, though, the older Bashir had a tendency to inflate his accomplishments, where Julian had the opposite inclination — which of course he now understood.

“So, Elim,” Richard started as they settled at a table with their respective drinks. “It was such a pleasant surprise that your mother was able to join us this evening. It’s a shame your father wasn’t able to come too.”

Garak’s smile tightened at the question. “My father is dead.”

Richard grimaced, “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, obviously uncomfortable, and Garak allowed the awkward silence to linger. After a while, Richard cleared his throat. “And you’re a tailor.”

Donning his customer service smile again, Garak agreed. “Yes. It’s a good trade, if a trifle dull.”

“Was your father a tailor as well?”

Garak took a moment to decide which father he would claim at the moment, but in the end the decision was an easy one. “No, my father was a gardener.”

“And you didn’t want to follow in his footsteps?”

Garak shrugged. “Actually I would have been quite happy to. I always enjoyed gardening. As you mentioned earlier when you were talking about your landscape architecture, there is something very pleasing in seeing the artistry of growing things. But you know how mysterious the ways of the universe can be… nothing ever goes quite as planned, and I ended up here as a tailor.” 

They sat and drank in silence for a few minutes, and Garak could practically see the mental circles that the human was running. Finally, Richard put down his drink with a bit more force than was necessary and looked up at him.

“Here is the problem I’m having, Elim: Jules hasn’t always made the best decisions. He always believes the best about everyone. There have been times when this hurt him in the past, and, just as any father would feel, I don’t want anything bad to happen to him.” Garak could barely control the sigh that built in his throat — first, he knew that not every father wanted the best for their children, and second, the look on the man’s face was hilarious. He figured that the look Richard was going for was supposed to be “menacing,” but Garak had seen more menacing looks come from baby regnars. “I want the truth.” Richard continued. “Why are you really involved with my son?”

Garak sat back in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on the other man. Garak smiled and spoke conversationally. “Your son has told me so many things during our time together. For instance, he’s told me about some of the places you took him as a child… Europa, Ceres II, Adigeon Prime…” Garak focused his gaze on the man who was visibly shrinking in front of him. _You fool._ he thought. _You are not nearly the man your son is._ There was no doubt in his mind that Julian wouldn’t be so intimidated nor quake so noticeably — no matter how nervous or worried he was. Garak lowered his voice. “You really shouldn’t have even attempted your little… endeavor… if you weren’t prepared to be more thorough in destroying the evidence. In less than 20 minutes I was able to find medical records about Julian’s childhood hospital stay.” Garak took a long drink of his kanar, savoring the syrupy feel as it coated his tongue.

After a moment of staring ominously at Julian’s father— in which time Garak enjoyed watching the man’s nerves fray like cheap Retagan satin — Garak put down his glass and folded his hands primly in front of him. “Thankfully, I am a more thorough man than you, and all records of Julian’s hospital stay have now been destroyed. And while all of the doctors and nurses who cared for Julian during his treatments are still breathing, I now have enough… _insurance_ , if you will… to ensure that they will never divulge your family’s... our family’s… little secret. No matter what.”

Richard Bashir’s eyes were wide, and he swallowed dryly. “You mean you aren’t going to tell anyone?”

Garak closed his eyes and sighed. Really, this man was trying his patience. “You don’t seem to understand something, so let me explain: not only would I never do anything to ever hurt your son, I am willing to do anything,” he paused and focused his blue eyes in the way that had made Guls and Legates crumble at his feet, “ _anything_ to protect him.” He unfolded his hands and stretched his fingers wide, the popping of his knuckles an audible threat. Readjusting his shoulders, he consciously changed his demeanor from “threatening” to “jovial.” He finished off his kanar and waved to a passing Ferengi waiter indicating they wanted two more drinks.

“Enough of such topics. Now, Richard, since I so rarely experience the joys of gardening anymore, I would love to hear more about your landscape architecture designs. And perhaps you would allow me a few suggestions?”

. . . 

Julian looked at the clock in his parent’s guest quarters. It was just after 25 hundred hours and Julian was getting antsy. While he had been thoroughly enjoying catching up with his mother and his aunt without the overbearing presence of his father, and his cheeks hurt from smiling at the stories Mila had shared about Elim’s childhood, his fiancé’s prolonged absence was well past the point of beginning to worry him and had entered into the territory of making his blood run cold.

“Jules, darling, while this has been lovely, I am afraid I must be going to bed,” his mother leaned toward him and pressed her lips against his cheek. “Please tell Elim that I’m sorry I couldn’t stay up to go through the pictures with him.”

Julian tried not to let his relief show. “I’ll be sure to let him know.”

“What you mean is you’ll let him know just as soon as we’re off the station,” Fatima said after his mother left the room, her knowing smile brilliant. And even with the worry he felt in his gut, he felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward in response.

“I admit nothing,” he said, and Fatima and Mila laughed.

Mila shook her head. “Elim said the exact same thing the _first_ time I caught him sick in our garden, his face smeared with chocolate, after my expensive box of Delavian confections went missing.”

Julian laughed at the mental image. While Mila hadn’t brought any pictures or holoimages of young Elim Garak, his imagination supplied an adorable picture of a young Cardassian boy with stunning blue eyes and a distinctive green hue around his neck ridges after eating too many sweets. And knowing that Garak’s love of Delavian chocolates was a lifelong addiction made the box his beloved had given him so many years ago that much more meaningful.

But remembering their interactions involving Delavian chocolates set off a stream of consciousness. He remembered how they had talked about Delavian chocolates right before the explosion of Garak’s shop and then right before his then-just-friend’s subsequent journey to the Gamma Quadrant. Which of course reminded him how Garak’s absence had served to awaken Julian to the full extent of his feelings for his friend Which _then_ reminded Julian, once again, about how long his fiancé had been alone with his father. He swallowed dryly.

“I hope you both don’t mind, but I think I better go check on them,” Julian said, moving to stand. But before he could fully get out of his seat, Mila put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently back down.

“Your concern for my son is touching, Julian, but your worry is unnecessary,” she said. 

“And even though I haven’t known Elim long, I’m pretty confident in his ability to take care of himself,” Fatima added. “Even considering that his current challenge is your father.”

Julian’s forehead creased. “But Aunt Fatima, you know what he’s like. Elim doesn’t deserve that.”

She laughed. “Your father is difficult, Julian, but he isn’t impossible.” 

Mila gave a little snorted laugh. “And my son has subdued much sterner men than your father.”

Julian could well imagine that what she said was indeed the case, but it just didn’t feel right to leave the man he loved with his overbearing, insufferable father. He was about to say so when his transport-ship-of-thought was suddenly interrupted by the sound of loud voices in the hall and the beeping of a door code being entered.

When the doors parted, Julian couldn’t quite believe his eyes. There the two men in question were; his father, with a rather large smile on his face leaning drunkenly against Garak, and Garak with a rather amused — if somewhat wry — expression on his own face. Julian was relieved to see that his fiancé had apparently held up well under whatever his father had subjected him to, but the vision was still somewhat unsettling.

“Jules!” Richard Bashir let loose of his hold around Garak’s shoulders and rushed over to his son, whom he pulled up off the couch and into a precariously balanced hug. “I must say, son, I had my doubts, but… well…” he glanced over his shoulder at Garak briefly, then turned back to Julian. “…you’ve made a fine choice.”

Julian felt a strange feeling well up inside him, and he looked back at his father — whose glance, though bleary, was sincere — and realized that this was the only time he could remember when his father had ever told him he’d made a good decision. When Julian had wanted to be a tennis player, his father had warned him that he should reconsider and should instead look for a higher-prestige, longer-lasting career. When he told his parents about wanting to join Starfleet, his father had bemoaned the choice as Julian “wasting his gifts.” And when he had declined Palis’ father’s offer to become a doctor in the man’s impressive medical practice, and was instead to be stationed on Deep Space Nine, his father had despaired and begged him to reconsider what he just knew would be the worst decision of his son’s life.

Taken aback, Julian patted his father absently on the shoulder. “Thanks. I think I’ve made a good choice, too.”

So, while Richard seemed to think it would be a fine time to start a long conversation, Julian was able to stem the flow of words long enough to convince his father that it was time for his drunken posterior to go to bed. And once Amsha had firmly taken the drunken man in tow, Julian, Garak, and Mila wished Fatima a good night and made their way towards the long-term habitation ring.

As they walked, Julian fell slightly behind Garak and Mila to watch the two Cardassians’ interactions. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw the two speak in softly hissed Kardasi. Their familial connection and affection obvious in every sound and movement they made.

It wasn’t that Julian was surprised at the caring Garak showed toward his mother, but he was still touched by the loving expression so obvious in his fiancé’s eyes; a look full of caring and devotion that he had only ever seen directed before at him. And in spite of her somewhat abrupt and impatient manner, Mila’s obvious affection for her son was refreshing, especially since the only other person that Julian had really met from Garak’s past was that monster, Tain, who had so vehemently expressed his desire to see Garak suffer.

And as if hearing his thoughts, he overheard Tain’s name spoken in Mila’s hushed tones, followed closely by Julian’s own name. Julian saw Garak’s posture stiffen just a bit.

With his enhancements, Julian knew that he had no excuse for not speaking fluent Kardasi by this point, but frankly, his time with Garak had always been spent engaging in more enjoyable activities. Now, he wished he had taken the time to learn more thoroughly.

“Well, here we are,” Garak said as they stopped outside of room 901. “You can stay in my quarters tonight, Mila, though I will probably be stopping by early tomorrow morning.”

“Of course,” Mila said. After mother and son touched palms, Mila turned to Julian. “Good night, Julian.” And with a curious look on her face, she leaned forward and to one side, putting one arm around his shoulder and one around his torso, but without making any contact with the rest of her body. She tapped both of her hands in a flappy sort of movement on his back and pressed her lips to his cheek. Awkwardly, he returned the gesture.

“Good night, Mila,” Julian said, and he watched bemusedly as the doors closed between them.

. . . 

As they turned their feet in the direction of their new quarters, Garak cast a glance at Julian. Even the most oblivious person could see that the poor thing looked rather frayed around the edges, and Garak hated to see his beloved look so discontent. So, even though it still caused him some consternation to do so in a public place, Garak reached out and entwined their fingers.

“I would like you to know how worried Mila was about hugging you correctly.”

“Is that what that was? I was wondering if I was behind on yet another Cardassian ritual,” Julian said, and Garak was pleased to see that the younger man’s smile dissolved some of the tension on his handsome features. Julian’s fingers tightened around his. “I’m glad she’s here... if for no other reason than to prove that you weren’t actually hatched from an egg.”

“My dear, I know that my species tries to keep the specifics of our biology a secret, but I thought even the Federation knew that Cardassians lost the ability to lay eggs several millennia ago.”

Julian rolled his eyes, but his smile widened. “Well, it is at least good to know that you shall never lose the ability to lie with a straight face.”

“Perish the thought,” Garak said as he entered the door code to their new quarters.

Garak ordered their respective cups of tea as Julian settled onto the couch, and Garak noticed that the worry lines were once again creasing his brow. Julian took an audible breath as Garak sat next to him, and cleared his throat. “So…I overheard you and Mila talking in the hallway…”

Garak paused mid-sip. “And just what did you overhear?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, but didn’t entirely succeed.

“I heard Mila mention some names. Mine several times — which I guess isn’t surprising —“ he paused. “And Tain’s.”

Garak’s hand involuntarily clenched around his teacup. While he had found out about Julian’s trip to the Arawath colony ages ago, Garak had never supplied more information than was absolutely necessary about his history with Tain — despite Julian’s repeated questions. For his own part, Garak had been perfectly satisfied for the whole matter to be ignored and never mentioned again.

Recovering quickly, Garak affected his most incredulous expression and laughed. “Great Hebitian Gods, Julian! I can’t even imagine what she might have said that would have sounded even remotely like that name.”

“I know what I heard Elim, so you’ll have to think of a more elaborate lie than that.” Julian turned to face him, and the earnest, imploring look on his beloved’s face made Garak cringe.

With a sigh, Garak put his cup down. “Would you like to know one of the topics your father and I talked about while we were at Quark’s?”

Julian looked uncomfortable at the mention of his father, and Garak took pity on him and continued quickly. “He wanted to know about my family, specifically about my father. I explained that my father was dead. What I didn’t mention was that he had died rather recently, and that you, my dear, had actually met him — shortly before you saved my life from that infernal implant.” He allowed the statement to linger between them while Julian’s eyes widened.

“Oh,” was all Julian said.

Garak’s smile felt tight, and he lifted his tea cup again. “Oh, indeed,” he said. “So, considering my own parentage, you can perhaps see why I wasn’t so concerned about talking with your father.”

Julian nodded, but remained distressingly quiet.

Now that the “vole was out of the bag,” so to speak, Garak feared how Julian would react to this new information. What would his beloved think about him now that the secret at the core of his past was exposed? As much as Julian managed to surprise him, and as much as Julian had grown to acknowledge the fact that the standard Federation viewpoint wasn’t necessarily the “right,” or only one, Garak still worried about how he would process the knowledge that Tain — arguably the most dangerous, ruthless, and cunning man in the quadrant — had not only been Garak’s mentor, but was, in fact, his father as well.

A soul-clutching chill emanated from the center of Garak’s chest, spreading outward until his whole body ached with the emptiness of it. Now, with this new information — on the eve of their enjoining — would Julian call the whole thing off? 

“Does this change things between us, Julian?” Garak tried to sound unaffected, but in spite of his best efforts, his voice was scratchy.

”New information always changes a situation,” Julian said quietly, and after a moment’s pause, he took a deep breath and continued. “When you originally told me that Tain had been the one to give you that horrible implant, I couldn’t imagine what sort of relationship you two had had. Then, when you told me you were his protégé, I wondered how you could have possibly modeled your life after his. I couldn’t understand how anyone would want to be like him.”

Garak opened his mouth to say something, but Julian shook his head and his expression closed Garak’s mouth.

“You want to know if the fact that Tain was your father changes things. Well, it does. But if you’re asking if it makes me love you less, the answer is “no.”” 

As long, slender fingers entwined with his, Garak felt the ache that had settled in his chest splinter and begin to dissolve.

Though tinted with sadness, Julian smiled at him. “The cruelty in Tain’s smile as he said he wanted you to suffer, and the way he could say he missed you, right after he said he wanted you to be miserable, made me feel sick. I couldn’t imagine how someone that you had been closed to, no matter what had happened between you, could say and feel those things. I might not have understood exactly how I felt about you then, but I still felt it; and the thought that he had taken so much away from you made me so angry. On the trip back to the station, I decided that I would do whatever I could to ruin his plans. If he wanted you to be miserable, then I wanted to make you happy. If he wanted you to be alone, I vowed that I would always be there for you.” Julian’s eyes still glistened with unshed tears, but his expression was hopeful. “I hope I’ve been successful.”

Garak allowed the breath he’d been holding to rush out, and he felt lighter for it. One tear finally escaped Julian’s long eyelashes and rolled down his cheek. Garak wiped away the moisture with his thumb. “You have been very successful,” he said as he took Julian’s hand. “I’d say you’ve ruined his plans admirably, and believe me, he was not a man whose plans were easily foiled.”

“I believe that,” Julian said, and he exhaled sighed. “I remembered how hard I tried as a child to please my father... I can’t imagine how it was to try and please Tain.” Garak tried not to remember his past as Julian continued: “I may not know much about your life before we met, but I do know that you are more than your past. Now that I know that Tain was your father, it only makes me realize even more how remarkable it is that you are the man you are now.”

Garak allowed his head to fall to the back of the couch and he tightened his grip on Julian’s hand. “My dear, you always manage to surprise me in the most pleasant ways.” He raised Julian’s fingertips to his lips.

Julian leaned back, too, and rested his head against Garak’s shoulder. “I’m glad.” Garak relaxed against the feeling of Julian’s body against his, and chuckled when his beloved opened his mouth in a huge yawn.

“I have more questions, you know, and I _had_ wanted to christen our new quarters on our last night as a couple of bachelors, but I’m absolutely exhausted. Can we please go to sleep now?”

Garak chuckled. “We certainly can.” He stood up, and walked to the door, opening it and standing beside it. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow, my dear.”

He had always thought that Julian’s puzzled expression was one of his most adorable, and this time was no exception. “What are you doing?” Julian asked.

Garak shook his head. “Surely, Julian, you aren’t thinking we can share a bed tonight. I believe that both of our cultures have some rather stringent taboos about what is and isn’t acceptable the night before two people unite their lives. And what if your parents came looking for you in the morning?” Garak smiled. “And since Mila is in my room…”

Julian gaped at him. “You want me to go back to my old quarters?”

“I’m afraid so, my dear. We have already bent enough rules and customs in this whole process, I really think that observing propriety the last night before we are enjoined would be for the best.” He walked over and hauled Julian up by the arm. “Come now, off you go,” he said, lightly guiding Julian towards the door.

He sputtered as Garak pushed him to the door. “You’re not seriously going to make me leave.”

“Julian, we could potentially spend the rest of our lives struggling over blankets and nocturnally fighting over bed space. I also have some things to attend to early tomorrow, and while I love you dearly, you snore, and I would very much like to have a good night’s sleep.” The Cardassian smiled piously.

Julian’s jaw set. “I do not snore.”

“And how would you know, my dear? You’re always asleep when you do it.” Garak smiled and grazed a kiss against Julian’s lips. “Good night, _Kea Passa._ ” He smiled as the door closed between them and Garak quickly set the privacy lock. To his credit, Julian didn’t try to open the door again, and after a few moments of what Garak could only assume was stunned incredulity, he heard tired footsteps drag down the hall.

Turning back to look at the boxes piled precariously, and knowing that more items awaited him in his old rooms, Garak sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who is still reading this even after my long hiatus (winter is a HORRIBLE time of year and makes me want to crawl into a hole and die).   
> All errors are regretted and wholly my own.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian and Garak enjoin their lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter include ceremonial substance use and gratuitous sentimentality / schmoopy romanticism.
> 
>  _Shirini Khordan_ , _Sofre-ye-Aghd_ , and all other references to traditional Persian wedding/engagement ceremonies and food primarily come from Wikipedia (and various other internet resources). I have tried to explain what these events are in context, and apologize if the terms are not defined adequately or if they are distracting to the flow of the work.
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who reads this after such a long delay from when I started. It has been a long journey!

When Julian’s tired feet finally got him back to his quarters, he thought he’d have no problem getting to sleep. How wrong he was. His mind turned fitfully over the day’s events: his family’s arrival, his father’s surprising expression of support, meeting Garak’s mother… it was a bit overwhelming. What weighted on him most heavily, though, was the idea that the spiteful, dangerous man that he’d met on the Arawath Colony was in fact Garak’s father.

His heart ached for Garak. Sure, Julian still harbored a lot of resentment towards his own father, but Richard Bashir had never treated him cruelly. He couldn’t even imagine how a father could actively wish his son ill. When Julian thought about all the horrible things Tain had said, he felt heartbroken for Garak. Worst of all, he had no doubt that the things Tain had said to Julian on the Arawath Colony were nothing compared to what he’d probably said to Garak. If the man was heartless enough to exile his son from the place that Garak loved more than anything, surely he would be especially cruel when he delivered the news; if there was one thing Julian knew about Cardassians, it was that they could smile all the while they linguistically twisted the knife, and he could only imagine that Tain would have been an expert at the art of verbal evisceration.

This mental whirlwind resulted in Julian falling asleep much later than he would have wanted, and when the chime on his door woke him instead of his alarm the next morning, he felt thoroughly off his game.

”Who is it?” He yelled while he hurried to pull on the pair of pants and shirt he’d worn the previous day (he hadn’t even thought to grab any fresh clothes from their quarters when Garak had so rudely banished him the night before).

”Your loving and doting aunt,” was the muted reply from the other side of the door.

Julian breathed a tentative sigh of relief; Fatima he could handle. With a breathless exclamation of “enter,” he rushed to the door and felt a huge wave of relief when he saw that neither of his parents were with her.

The look on Fatima’s face when she saw him, though, was anything but relieved. Once she placed the tray she had in her hands down on his breakfast table, she quickly walked over and took him by the arms. “Julian, you look terrible. Are you all right? Don’t tell me you have cold feet.”

While not thrilled about being told that he looked terrible, Julian’s main priority was reassuring his aunt. “No, not at all. I just couldn’t get to sleep last night.”

She puckered her lips in consternation, but after a moment she nodded. “I can understand that,” she said. “And you can tell me all about it while we eat,” she concluded as she pulled him over to the table. Once Julian was seated, Fatima began to open the various dishes that she had brought with her. The aroma of tea and sweets penetrated the haze over Julian’s mind. He took a deep breath of the wonderful scents.

“What is all this?” he asked as he looked at the syrup-covered _bamieh_ doughnuts and little dishes of chocolates and nuts.

She smiled as she poured him rich, Persian tea. “Well, while I wasn’t able to take part in the announcement of your and Elim’s engagement, I thought it would be nice to still have an impromptu _Shirini Khordan._

Julian could still remember his cousin’s _Shirini Khordan,_ from when he was a small boy; their whole family gathered together to celebrate the announcement of their engagement, and the sharing of deserts to symbolically wish the engaged couple a sweet life. He also remembered leaving the party stuffed to the gills with _bamieh_ and the _nun-e berenji_ cookies that melted in his mouth.

Digging in, he found these treats were particularly good. “I can’t believe you got the replicator to make all this,” he said between bites.

Fatima rolled her eyes dramatically. “As though I would feed my sweet little nephew replicated food for such an important event!”.

Julian gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Aunt Fatima. I just didn’t think everything would taste this good after making the trip from Earth.”

“That is because it didn’t come from Earth. I made it last night… with a little help from Elim.”

Julian’s eyes went wide, and suddenly the fragrance of the rose and orange blossom syrup was just a bit more sweet knowing that his fiancé had helped. The taste was thick on his tongue as he spooned up the syrup, and he found some of the troubles that had weighed him down so heavily the night before were alleviated with their delicate scent.

After he’d inhaled most of the goodies, his aunt leaned forward and poured them both more tea. “Now that you’re fed, would you like to talk about what kept you up so late last night?”

Julian closed his eyes and sighed. While he wasn’t eager to dredge up such dark thoughts, he was fairly certain that sharing them with his aunt might help him get the pain out of his heart. “You know how I’ve told you that Elim doesn’t like to talk about his past? Well, last night he told me something that kind of explains his reluctance to talk about his life before we met.”

Fatima nodded and waited for him to continue.

Julian sighed. “Do you remember in my first letter to you, I mentioned that Elim had once gotten very sick — that he had been close to death — and that someone he used to work with was the reason for it? I was at my wit’s end to find a way to cure him, and the only thing I could think of was to find the man who had been the one to hurt him so badly in the first place. So I flew into Cardassian space and tracked him down…” Julian laughed mirthlessly, “…or, rather, he allowed me to track him down.” Julian cringed. “His name was Tain and he was awful. I mean, I knew enough about his reputation to know that I wasn’t going to like him, but the way he smiled when he heard that Elim was dying, and the way he said he wanted Elim to have a long, miserable life surrounded my people who hated him while knowing that he could never go home just made me so angry.” Julian put his head in his hands. “And last night I found out that this man was Elim’s father.”

Fatima scooted her chair around the table and put her arm around his shoulders, placing a kiss on the back of his bowed head. “You always did have such a compassionate heart, Julian,” she whispered. “And that is a terrible story, but the charming man who joked with me and your mother yesterday at dinner was not miserable. The times Elim and I have spoken over subspace, he fairly glowed with happiness. And that is thanks to you.”

Julian looked up. “But that’s not all, Aunt Fatima. When Elim first got sick, I didn’t even acknowledge him as a friend. I remember I had a long conversation with my friend Jadzia about how I didn’t trust Elim, and how he and I weren’t _really_ friends. For almost two years he and I had lunch together, and talked and argued, and I couldn’t even admit that I cared about him. I don’t know whether it was because he was Cardassian, or because I thought he was a spy, but for two years we knew each other and for those two years, Tain got his way. I could have been there for Elim that whole time — helped him to know that he wasn’t alone and that not everyone hated him — but I wouldn’t even acknowledge him.”

”Oh Julian,” Fatima said, her eyes soft as she again pulled him into her arms. “But you _were_ there for him. You _did_ spend time with him. And perhaps you didn’t say so out loud, but I am sure you knew in your heart that he was dear to you; and Elim is too smart a man to not have seen it, too.” She rubbed his back and then ducked her head to look in his downcast eyes. “And now, today, you will be joining your life to his. It isn’t a time for regrets. It is a time for celebrating.”

Looking at Fatima’s smile made Julian smile as well, and he did feel lighter after his confession. “Thank you, Aunt Fatima.”

“Of course, my child, though all I did was restate the obvious. Now…” the door chime interrupted her suddenly, and Fatima rolled her eyes, “… as I was about to say, now we had better get ready for the arrival of your parents.”

. . .

Garak was exhausted. Even with Mila’s help, it had taken most of the night to get the last of his belongings moved, and his entire morning had been spent working with Fatima, Julian’s parents, and Keiko to prepare the briefing room with the spread of a traditional Persian wedding, the _Sofre-ye-Aghd_.

He had to admit that the work had been well worth the absence of a single night’s sleep. When Julian had initially requested they observe the traditions of his ancestral home in addition to practicing the Cardassian ritual of _el-ran-geth_ , Garak had been unsure about what the whole thing would look like. But after talking to Fatima and Amsha over subspace about all the possibilities, he was quite looking forward to giving Julian this surprise, even if had taken quite a bit of time and planning.

With everyone’s help, all of the preparations had been completed with barely a moment to spare. Fatima and Amsha had brought all of the ingredients and family heirlooms from Earth, and together the two women and Garak had made the special foods and set up the traditional setting. Keiko had decorated the briefing room with brilliant bouquets while Mila, Richard, Chalon, and Jadzia took care of the decorating. And just when Garak was wondering when he himself would have time to get ready, Fatima had shared her plans for having brunch with her nephew, buying him much needed time to get dressed and put the finishing touches on their future home together.

Now, as their appointed time with Sisko approached, it provided Garak with just enough of a respite for his nerves to get jangled.

While he was not usually one to fidget, as he and Mila stood outside Sisko’s office Garak did find himself adjusting his new suit a bit more than was probably necessary — but he allowed himself the conceit. After all, he did wish to look his best when Julian arrived.

”You look fine, Elim. Stop fussing,” Mila said in exasperation as he once again made sure that the collar sat “just-so” over his neck ridges. “I’m sure the suit is exactly the right silver to contrast with your hair and the blue handkerchief is the perfect blue to bring out your eyes.”

Not rising to her barbs, he brushed her words off and simply appraised her own outfit instead.

“And I am pleased with how well that dress fits.”

She tilted her head. “Well, you always did have a natural instinct when it came to fashion and fit. How you anticipated I’d have lost a little weight, I’ll never know… or perhaps you still have some devices hidden in the house?” She fixed him with an amused glare.

Garak shook his head and laughed. “As though any would still remain after so long a time.” He smiled and looked at her from the corner of his eye. “And not to be rude, Mila, but with eating two Etheran tarts in a single evening, I’m not sure that it was that you _lost_ weight…” She looked up at him sharply, displeasure written all over her face, but he held up a hand in apology. “My dear Mila, you always used to eat Etherian tarts when you were nervous, but even still, you never seem to gain a _sesseret._ ”

She “harrumphed,” but the corners of her lips twitched up. “Well, it’s a good thing your designs are better than your manners, young man.”

There was something so strange in seeing Mila face to face after so long apart. After his return from the Gamma Quadrant, he had alerted her of Tain’s death, and while it was a strained interaction, he had been surprised when she hadn’t seemed angry at him for failing to bring Tain home. He had always avoided thinking too deeply into the nature of Mila’s and Tain’s relationship, but he knew that only a very strong devotion would have staid Tain’s hand when he had learned that she was pregnant. For all the times Garak had heard from Tain that he should have killed Mila before she gave birth to him, Garak could only imagine that Tain must have been very much in love with her all those years ago to not have carried out his threat — an idea only confirmed when Mila had alluded to their partaking in the _el-ran-geth_ ceremony.

It was during their communications concerning his enjoining that he had truly noticed a change in Mila’s demeanor towards him. She was still very much the strong, sometimes difficult woman he always remembered her as; quick with a withering glance or a sarcastic quip. Yet there was also a softer side that he didn’t remember often seeing in his youth. He wondered if it was the absence of Tain, or simply that she was mellowing with age.

It was because of this that Garak hadn’t seen any point in telling her about Tain’s plan to kill her once his attack on the shapeshifters was completed. While Garak doubted she was as sentimental as he had become after living amongst non-Cardassians for so long, he couldn’t imagine she would enjoy hearing about Tain’s intent.

He figured his shoulders supported many secrets, and they could bear that one as well.

His familial reverie was broken by the distinctive whir of the turbolift, and as his fiancé ascended into view surrounded by his family, Garak’s breath caught in his throat.

While Garak had previewed the delicious sight of his fiancé in his suit during fittings, the final result was truly something special. The way the subtle copper threads interwoven with the fabric highlighted the rich tone of Julian’s skin. The emerald green handkerchief brought out the intense darkness of his eyes. Yet, the most alluring aspect had nothing to do with the clothing he wore; it was radiant blush that spread across Julian’s cheeks which dried all airy remarks from Garak’s mouth. And as Julian’s eyes caught his, he found that all he could do was stare mesmerized at his beloved, managing only to share an abashed smile. Garak felt like he was floating — the same breathless anticipation that he’d experienced their first night together, the same nervousness as when he’d proposed _el-ran-geth_ — a myriad of emotions and sensations that made him realize just what a sentimental fool he’d become.

And worst of all, he didn’t care. He was in love.

“Hi,” Julian said, as he walked over, his parents and Fatima following in his wake. He reached out and took his hand.

“You look wonderful, my dear,” Garak managed to utter.

“So do you,” Julian leaned in and whispered into Garak’s ear. “I never thought I’d like you in anything more than your original silver suit, but I have to admit, I think this one is my new favorite.” Julian’s raised his eyebrows, and Garak’s pulse quickened at the lascivious look in his eye. Julian’s smile widened, and he tilted his head in the direction of Sisko’s office. “Shall we?”

. . .

The signing of the Federation marriage certificate and the filing of all the other necessary documents went by in a blur for both Julian and Garak; everything but the feeling of each other’s entwined fingers was just a fuzzy backdrop. They vaguely acknowledged the hearty slap Sisko gave their shoulders as the commander’s deep, warm voice congratulated them, and numbly returned the hugs that their family members gave them — Julian’s mother and aunt wiping away tears and Julian’s father and Mila looking fondly on. But everything was peripheral; their concentration was primarily on each other.

“Well, my dear, it appears it is too late for you to escape my clutches now,” Garak said, and Julian laughed.

“Whatever shall I do?” Julian responded, and pulled Garak in for their first kiss as a married couple.

Reality sunk more into their conscious as soon as they exited the Commander’s office. Jadzia, Chalon, Miles and Keiko, and all the rest of their friends and co-workers where waiting in Ops. They were overwhelmed at all of the congratulatory wishes.

The group made their way to the briefing room, and Julian’s face colored with disbelief as they entered. He turned to Garak. “What is all this?”

Garak smiled innocently. “Your reception, of course. You did say that you wanted to incorporate some of your traditions... Fatima and your mother helped me with the particulars.”

Julian thought the _Sofre-ye-Aghd_ was beautiful and even more splendid than he remembered his cousin’s being from when he was a little boy. Julian recognized the silver candelabras as the ones from his aunt’s house in the Beledi settlement. The Cashmere drape had been Julian’s mother’s from her own wedding. There were the _Sini-ye Aatel-O-Baatel,_ the spices that symbolically protected the newlyweds from malevolent forces, and a veritable mountain of cookies and pastries. Julian’s copy of Rumi’s poetry was displayed, and in a place of prominence, in front of the mirror that reflected Julian and Garak’s delighted faces, was the traditional _Kaas-e Nabaat/Shaakh-e Nabaat**_ — the bowl made of spun sugar — overflowing with dates. Rounding out the assorted delights were several boxes of Delavian chocolates.

Garak felt a swell of pride as he saw the excited glimmer in Julian’s eyes. “I hope it is suitable, my dear.”

Julian turned to him, and wrapped his arms around his husband. “It’s perfect.”

. . .

Together, Julian and Garak collapsed in a heap on their new couch — ties loosened, top shirt buttons unbuttoned, and slightly stunned looks on their faces. They breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

It was over.

Julian looked at the light as it glinted off of Garak’s ring and smiled. He felt delightfully tingly, and not all of it was from the rather generous amount of champagne he’d consumed over the course of the evening.

Even with his parents going all weepy, even with all the last minute craziness, even with Jadzia’s and Chalon’s totally embarrassing toasts and Miles’ slightly awkward one, and even with the whole situation involving the destruction of his wedding cake (which he was still highly suspicious of), the whole thing had gone better than he had even dared hope.

Exhausted, and maybe slightly delirious, Julian began to laugh. “It’s a good thing a couple doesn’t have to renew their marriage every few years. If I’d have known it was this much effort, I think I would have agreed to partake in the _el-ran-geth_ privately with you and not gone through with the whole reception in the first place!”

Garak looked at him seriously. “I thought you knew that we did indeed have to renew our vows according to Cardassian cultural standards. Every Cardassian Prime year a couple must renew their enjoining in front of friends and family, each time with more pomp and fanfare than the year before.”

Julian looked at him with a slightly desperate glint in his eye. “You’re joking, right?”

“Of course I am, my love,” Garak said, smiling, and bringing his husband in for a kiss.

The reception had gone by almost without a hitch. Everyone had been on their best behavior and seemed to enjoy themselves. Miles had even offered Garak a gruff hug, and (while she never would have admitted it), Kira had even been teary eyed when the couple had their first dance.

The only unfortunate incident had been when Rom had dropped Julian’s cake. It was like a disaster in slow motion; the cake that Julian and Garak had finally agreed upon, flying up in the air when Rom tripped, then splattering everywhere only to be followed by Rom landing in said cake.

After all of Garak’s teasing him about his dream cake, Julian was highly suspicious, and had shot a glare at his Cardassian spouse, who just happened to be standing somewhat close to the accident at the time. Yet, honestly, Julian could see no way that Garak might have tripped Rom — though he still had a sneaking suspicion it was somehow planned.

“You owe me a cake, you know. I may not be able to prove anything, but I know you did it,” Julian said as he fixed Garak with a playfully stern look.

“My dear, the cake you wanted was ostentatious to put it mildly. I rather think it was simply the universe showing its disapproval of your indulgence.” Garak smiled innocently.

Julian huffed an indignant sigh, but his feigned irritation melted quickly as strong arms wrapped around his waist and cool gray lips settled softly against his own. Gentle caresses and kisses quickly grew more amorous, though, and before long they were breathless with shared desire. Garak’s fingers ran through Julian’s hair and his breath was moist against his ear. “You did remember to take tomorrow off, didn’t you, my dear?” Garak asked.

“Yes,” Julian said breathily.

“Good.” The Cardassian extricated himself from his lover’s embrace and extended a hand to help Julian off the couch. “Then, I believe it is time.”

Julian nodded, took the proffered hand, and stood. “Can you at least give me a hint as to what to expect?”

“Since this is my first time taking tea, too, I really don’t have any information to give you. But, I’ve done a little research, and, if for any reason you don’t like the effects, I have an antidote prepared.”

“Alright.” Julian took a deep breath. “Thank you, Elim.”

Hand in hand, they walked into their new bedroom, and Julian’s eyes widened with wonder. Flowers, both Terran and Cardassian, were strewn across tables and dressers, and Garak went around and lit candles that floated in little bowls of water.

When Garak returned to his side, Julian wrapped his arms around his husband’s chest. “I always knew that, deep down, you were a romantic.”

Garak shook his head. “Please, Julian, I am just fulfilling the requirements of _el-ran-geth_ ” he said, but then he turned his head and peered at Julian from the corner of his eye. “…if you tell anyone, I shall never forgive you.”

“Yes you will,” Julian said, nestling his head on Garak’s shoulder.

The Cardassian sighed. “Yes. I suppose I will.”

With a gentleness that always managed to move Julian’s heart, Garak sat him down on the bed, the urn and a large earthen bowl sitting on the bedside table at his elbow. Garak knelt at his beloved’s feet, gazing up at him. Julian looked into his light blue eyes and thought about how close they had become; from their first evenings together smoking hookah down to this moment: that first kiss on their first date, Garak’s offer of enjoinment, their first argument (as a couple that is — who knew how many literary and philosophical arguments they had had before they became romantically involved), the day he had told Garak about his genetic enhancements and then Garak sharing the secret about who his father was, telling Julian’s parents and colleagues that they were going to be married — all the ups and downs they’d been through together. Gazing at his beloved, Julian wondering how everything could feel so new and so comfortably old at the same time. Like now, when he watched the slight waver in his lover’s hands as he poured the tea into the cup.

“Here,” Garak said as he handed the bowl to his husband and then wrapped his own hands around Julian’s. Still kneeling, Garak stretched his arms up, the cup tilting as Julian drank. It surprised him how the tea tasted both sweet and sour at the same time, and it reminded him slightly of pickled ginger.

“ _Julian, pessa ne kea. Malss phana’sle mu kea. Sle kea medda el-ran,_ ” Garak said ceremoniously, then smiled. _“Kea n’alssta sa Karda-sé. Sussom_ ”

(Julian, love I you. Mean everything to me you. To you offer el-ran. You over the state. Forever.)

Julian panicked; he didn’t know there were words he had to speak. “Elim, what am I supposed to say?” he whispered.

“Whatever you want. There is no script. Each couple must declare their devotion in their own way.”

Julian couldn’t help but scowl. _It would have been nice to know before now — I would have had a little more time to think of something!_ Julian thought with vexation. Taking a deep breath, he extended the bowl to his husband.

”Elim Garak, you are by far the most confounding person I have ever met. You’re mysterious. You never give me a straight answer. Even on our wedding day you have managed to infuriate me numerous times. And I have never loved anyone as much as I love you. I am happier this day than I have ever been, and I gladly enter into _el-ran-geth_ with you.”

With a glint of mischievous self-satisfaction in his blue eyes, Garak continued to cup Julian’s hands as he drank the remaining half of the tea.

Placing the bowl back on the bedside table, Garak stood, and with gentle hands began to peel the layers of clothing off of his love. Just as with the first time — and every time subsequent — he marveled at the beauty of the man before him, and could hardly believe that the universe had finally allowed him happiness after so much sorrow in his life.

When his turn came to undress his beloved, Julian was starting to feel slightly lightheaded, and there was a hazy shimmer around everything. When his palms connected with the fabric of Garak’s suit he gasped; the sensation in his fingertips had given him a jolt like he had touched a force field. Taking a deep breath, he began his task again; his body beginning to feel tingly and warm. As he watched more and more of his lover’s body displayed before him, the familiar stirrings of arousal ran tantalizing hands over him, and he felt his pulse throb throughout his lower body. Well before the Cardassian was undressed, Julian’s sex was fully erect from anticipation, and he was pleased to see that Garak was in a very similar state.

“Are you feeling the effects of the tea, my love?” Garak’s voice sounded low and breathy, and Julian shivered.

“Yes.”

“Tell me, Julian, when you look at me, who do you see?” Even in his slightly intoxicated state, Julian could detect a certain amount of nervousness in his husband’s voice. Perplexed, he wondered if hallucinations were part of this experience, but aside from the halo around everything, there was nothing unusual with his vision.

“I see you,” he replied.

Garak breathed a deep sigh of relief. “And I see you,” he said, his voice sounding hugely relieved. Without waiting another second, he pressed Julian back onto the bed and began kissing and caressing every inch of his body. Julian had never felt anything so amazing before; the tingling sensations elicited by Garak’s every touch sent erotic shivers through every nerve ending. Slowly he closed his eyes, and for a second he regretted not being able to see his beloved, but he found he was unable to reopen them, mesmerized as he was by the images that played across his eyelids. In his mind’s eye, it was as though he was looking at a book, the pages being flipped in quick succession. On each page was a different existence of what Julian Sabatoi Bashir’s life could have been; some married to Palis, some where he had never been genetically enhanced, others where he was a slave to a strange Cardassian/Bajoran government, still other existences as a renegade — but as the mental pages flipped, he would occasionally glimpse his current existence as his husband began to slowly make love to him, and his mind cried out “Yes! Yes. This is the life I want.”

For Garak, the experience was different: no pages were laid out before him showing what his life could have been, but rather his life as it had been was seen almost like a map; all the places he’d been, all the mental scars from the things he’d done and endured etched into his skin and across his soul. Yet with each kiss he pressed to his beloved’s body, and each tender stroke of skin against skin, the scars faded until they were nothing more than faint reminders of a past that could no longer harm him.

Slowly their visions faded. Julian could hear his lover’s gentle hissing whenever his fingertips flicked teasingly over a scale; Garak could smell/taste the scent of his lover mixing with the fragrance of the flowers and the candles.

After six months of extensive practice, Garak no longer feared hurting Julian during lovemaking, but he still took his time preparing him, knowing that much of Julian’s pleasure came from the act and the anticipation. For the millionth time, he felt the same incredible surge of longing and arousal to see his lover so completely enraptured by his actions, and felt his own body respond. Enhanced by the tea, each scale felt like it was covered in warm oil, and as Julian trailed his hands lightly over his back and neck, he found himself moaning. But even with the heightened pleasure brought about by the tea, he was no longer so out of practice, and he fully intended to prolong the experience for both of them.

As Garak stimulated him, Julian could barely control the writhing movements of his hips, and for a second he couldn’t be sure which of the two of them actually had reptilian ancestry. He felt boneless; pleasure building almost to a crescendo, only to abate enough to extend their lovemaking.

 _“Pessa ne kea_ , Julian,” Garak whispered as he prepared to enter his love.

“I love you, too, Elim,” Julian replied as he wrapped his legs around his lover’s back, squeezing his thighs and pulling his husband deep within himself. The feeling was electric, and for a moment neither of them moved, awash with the sensations of being wholly together.

…

It was morning by the time they had fully sated themselves, yet neither of them felt inclined to sleep. Instead, they lay wrapped around each other — absorbing one another; their heartbeats, their breaths. It seemed like a very real possibility that they could stay like that forever, but a niggling question bothered Julian.

“Elim, last night you asked me what I saw after I drank the tea. What was I supposed to see?”

Garak sat and settled his back against the headboard. “In Hebitian times, the tea was used as a shamanistic tool and was supposed to show the true path and desires of an initiate. It was said to access the very essence of a person and to show them their true path. That is why it is used in the _el-ran-geth_ in the first place. It is as much a spiritual experience for the enjoined couple as a physically pleasurable one. And because it showed a person what they truly desired, if they continued to see the face of the one they were with, then they knew that they were actually with the person they loved. But, when the Union was formed, and enjoinings ceased to be based on love but were rather a means of political and familial allegiance, the use of the tea took on a different purpose. Since individuals were often joined to people they had never met before, and sometimes against their will, it wasn’t uncommon for the participants of the enjoining to not really want to be intimate with their new mate. The tea often would cause the individual to hallucinate that they were actually with a person they loved. It made the situation more palatable, especially for young people whom had been enjoined to form political allegiances.”

Julian sat up, looking aghast. “That’s horrible! They would drug kids so that they wouldn’t be disgusted by who they were having sex with?”

Garak held up a hand. “I am not excusing the practice, my dear, I am merely relaying information. In powerful families, the night of an enjoining was often the first time a young Cardassian was intimate with another. You would rather they were aware that their first sexual experience was with someone whom they didn’t love?”

Julian looked uncomfortable. “It doesn’t seem right.”

“I didn’t say it was,” Garak said, looking away. “But perhaps now you can see why I was so glad that you continued to see me, and not someone else.”

Julian was somewhat offended that his beloved could even think he’d want to be with someone else, but when he saw the vulnerable look that his husband was trying to hide, he couldn’t find it in himself to be upset. He realized the doubt had nothing to do with him, but only Garak’s own insecurities. Running a calming hand over a jaw ridge, he looked deeply into his love’s blue eyes. “Don’t ever doubt that this is exactly where I want to be. I…”

…And it was at that exact moment that his stomach started to growl, thoroughly interrupting the moment.

“Julian, what was that?” Garak asked with a very real sounding thread of fear in his voice. Julian laughed.

“It was just my stomach. With as much socializing as we had to do at the reception, all I got to eat was one little plomek fritter and a tiny sliver of cake.”

Garak looked at him dryly. “I didn’t mean that, I meant the sound that came from the closet.”

“I didn’t hear anything. Are you sure you aren’t still feeling the effects of the tea?”

“No, Julian. I am positive I heard something in the closet. I think you should take a look.”

Julian looked at him suspiciously. “Why don’t you look yourself?”

Garak tilted his head. “Perhaps I’m afraid. What if it is the Mogrund ready to eat me up?”

“Oh, so you would rather it ate me up? Some husband you are…”

Garak smiled. “Everyone knows the Mogrund only has a taste for Cardassians. They find humans stringy and lacking in flavor.”

“Humpf!” Julian replied as he got out of the bed and crossed the room to open the closet door… only to see a three-tiered wedding cake; one that looked remarkably like the one he’d drawn as a child and that his mother had been so keen on showing people. He couldn’t believe his eyes and simply stood there dumbfounded.

“Hm,” Garak said. “I had no idea that a cake could sound like a Mogrund. Well, since it’s there, would you bring me some? I think I might be feeling a bit peckish myself.”

Julian turned to him, disbelief written all over his face. “I can’t believe you ruined a perfectly good cake just so that you could have your little surprise.”

Garak rolled his eyes. “Then you obviously don’t know me as well as you seem to think. I can be incredibly heartless when necessary. The other cake had to die; it was for the greater good.”

Julian shook his head. “I should know better than to put anything past you.” He said with a smile, taking the cake out into the living area. He returned a few moments later with a plate and two forks. Sitting on the bed cross-legged, he brought a forkful of cake up to Garak’s lips. The Cardassian just looked at him in confusion. “Well? I’m waiting,” Julian said.

“I’m quite capable of feeding myself,” Garak said as he reached for the fork, but Julian pulled it back out of his reach.

“That as may be, it’s traditional to feed each other the first bite, and since you have already ruined my first cake experience, I think you can indulge me in this.”

Fixing his husband with a look of long suffering, Garak daintily ate the cake from the fork, and he thought that perhaps the look of happiness on his beloved’s face was worth the indignity of being fed like a child.

“Now me,” Julian said, smiling, loading the fork with another frosting-y bite and handing it to his husband.

“You humans really are so foolish,” Garak said, carefully holding the fork while Julian nibbled off of it.

“Says the man who turned our bedroom into a botanical garden last night? We’re going to have to clean all these flowers up, you know.”

Garak put an arm around his shoulders and grabbed the other fork. “Later. Right now we’re eating cake.”

Soon, all that remained on the plate were crumbs and the two sank back into the mountain of blankets on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies are made for typos - I just needed to post this and get it off of my plate!


End file.
